Not A Hero, Never Was: The Ice Queen
by sparklingsparkysparkles
Summary: Everyone in Polis knows Clarke Griffin, sole heir to the multi-billion Griffin Enterprise and a renowned artist. What they don't know, however, is her new night job. Enter Lexa Woods, a police commander who only wants to avenge her parents and build a life with her fiancée. The two of them together may just be what finally takes down Nia, but victory comes at a cost. Vigilante AU.
1. Polis

**A/N: Hey guys! This is my take on the vigilante trope. There are already quite a few excellent vigilante Clexa stories on both FFN and AO3, but I've noticed that all of them feature vigilante! Lexa. Hence, I thought I'd write about an AU where Clarke is the vigilante instead. This story is heavily inspired by both The Dark Knight trilogy and Telltale's Batman game, so please pardon a few recurring ideas throughout the story. There will be a lot of character deaths, both major and minor, so be prepared. I will be updating daily and I hope that you enjoy it. A preview of the next chapter is at the end. Please leave a review and let me know what you think, constructive criticism is very welcomed.**

* * *

 **Chapter One: Polis**

You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a villain. That came from a movie, but Octavia thought that it rang painfully true for Polis. Eleven years ago, a bomb killed Diana Sydney, an epitome of the corruption which had long plagued Polis. Every Mayor who came after her either stayed true to their ideals or became devoured by the same swamp. Either way, they left office in a body bag.

Some people were still optimistic about future. Octavia guessed that was why they believed in Clarke Griffin, the mysterious and beautiful heir to the multi-billion Griffin Enterprise and her colleague, who drew people in like magnetic. Those who were still fighting, but had long become disillusioned, rallied behind the tough-talking DA Charles Pike with a résumé polished by hundreds of convictions; and those who hadn't dared to let themselves hope when the visionary diplomat-turned-politician Marcus Kane was elected Mayor by a landslide. The elites who had no intention of loosening their grip on Polis' political and economic establishment lined up behind Cage Wallace, who oversaw Mt. Weather Corp's lucrative arms business. And finally, there was the woman who unleashed all the chaos. Polis' most notorious crime boss, Nia of the Azgeda, The Ice Queen.

Octavia looked at Lincoln, who had an arm around her tightly, his thick black coat soaked with rain, and smiled. It felt like a lifetime ago when they were the faces of Polis, and maybe she can do better than all of them. They were surrounded by people, stricken with grief. Polis always seemed to be mourning someone, but with Lincoln next to her, Octavia almost let herself hope, against her better judgment, that there wouldn't be another funeral for a long time.

Polis won't just fix itself. Obstacles await her, and sacrifices are bound to be made. But if there is anything that Clarke and Lexa taught her, it's that as long as there are still good people left in Polis, the sacrifices are worth it.

* * *

 **Eighteen Months Ago**

"Can I help you?" A voice broke Lexa out of her trance. It was raspy with a slight hint of amusement and Lexa blinked, mentally scolding herself for letting someone catch her off guard. She had been so captivated by the painting that she didn't even realize someone had pushed open the glass door until they were right in front of her.

"I umm-" A faint shade of pink crept up Lexa's cheeks when she realized that she was caught. The figure in front of her observed Lexa curiously, a small smile tugging at her lips. She was around Lexa's age, late twenties to early thirties with light blonde curls that fell just above her shoulder. Her eyes were a dark shade of blue, like the ocean, deep and mesmerizing, glinting with amusement at Lexa's staggered speech. Her short hair and the low cut of her dress readily made visible the lucrative skin of her soft, smooth neck as well as enough cleavage to make any onlooker gawk like a horny teen. The black dress she wore ended mid-thigh, revealing her pale, and very long legs, a view that would render any man or woman to a drooling fool. Lexa thought that explained how the woman was taller than her until she noticed the pair of heels she was wearing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" Lexa cleared her throat, "I saw the painting from across the street, and I just couldn't help it."

The blonde woman followed Lexa's line of her sight until her eyes landed on the drawing in question. When she did, her eyebrows arched up in surprise.

"Interesting choice," she noted, "I can't say I've had people staring at it like it holds the key to the universe before."

Lexa definitely saw why the blonde would say that. Lexa could tell that the gallery showcased extraordinary works even though her knowledge of the arts is next to non-existent. The work she had her eyes on, was a charcoal drawing. It was a field of wildflowers untouched by civilization, charming but plain, with a strange sense that sent chills down her spine. It was undisputedly beautiful, but not beautiful like Aphrodite, rather beautiful in a way that reminded her of Thanatos. Honestly, Lexa herself was surprised that out of all the exquisite artworks that graced the gallery, this was the one that caught her eye.

"There's something about that drawing that just speaks to me," Lexa explained, "I don't exactly know, but it just feels so… beautiful, but there is also a sense of sadness to it. Like it's longing for something- something that it knows it can't have."

The blonde only hummed, looking at Lexa with a strange expression that she could not decipher.

"Come on," the smile returned to her face after a few seconds of silence, something akin to curiosity appeared in her eyes as the blonde turned around and beaconed Lexa to follow her. The brunette complied. Once they were both inside, the blonde woman closed the door behind her. It only took a glance around the open space for Lexa to realize that they were alone in the studio. There was no one behind what Lexa presumed was the reception, while the lighting was too dim with dark clouds ensuring it would be a night with no trace of the moon.

"I hope I'm not keeping you at work."

"Don't worry, you aren't. We weren't supposed to be closed for another hour anyway," the blonde waved it off with a small smile, "but we didn't get a lot of people all day, so I sent my staff home early. I was actually pretty surprised when I saw you."

"You own this place?" Lexa asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise and gesturing around the gallery, "and all these paintings, did you draw them?"

"I don't get that reaction a lot," the blonde chuckled, giving Lexa an amused look, "but yes, it's my gallery, and most of these works are mine."

"They are magnificent," Lexa breathed, turning and taking in all the artworks hanging on the walls. Most of them were paintings, but there were quite a few sketches as well, though Lexa didn't see anything else done by charcoal, "I don't know anything about art and even I can tell that. People must love your work."

"Thank you," a small smile graced the blonde woman's lips, followed by a wistful look. Something strange flashed in her eyes, but it vanished as soon as it appeared, "it's been quiet since I bought this place, refurbished it and opened it back up. A lot more people used to come here every day when I was much younger. I remember families, parents bringing their children to exhibitions on weekends-"

The woman didn't finish her sentence, but she didn't need to. Lexa nodded, looking at the blonde sadly. They both knew what happened next, why families no longer went out for picnics, why children stopped playing on the streets, why Polis became a ghost town when it was barely dark. The Mayor was assassinated, crime spiraled out of control, the police, underfunded and understaffed, became overran by organized criminal gangs. The worst of them, Nia and her Azgeda, terrorized the city. It was one of the many reasons why Lexa returned home, only to put on another uniform.

"Anyway, here it is," the blonde cleared her throat, removing the framed charcoal drawing from the wall and offering Lexa a small smile.

"How much do you want for it?" Lexa asked.

"You can have it," the blonde woman shook her head.

Lexa opened her mouth to protest, but the blonde beat her to it.

"Making a friend who understands your art is worth a lot more than an old charcoal drawing," the blonde said, her smile was pleasant and genuine, and Lexa didn't have it in her to say no. So she nodded instead.

"Where is this?"

"It's in Arkadia."

"It's not in Polis, I presume."

"You presume right," The blonde smiled, a distant look on her face. Her pupils dilated just enough that Lexa knew she must be caught in a memory, "Arkadia is half way across the world. I found it by chance during my travels. I was immediately captivated by it. Sitting there and just be was easily my favorite thing to do during my time there."

"Is that why the painting is so sad? Did something happen?" Lexa's curiosity got better of her before her brain could process what she was doing. Once it did, she almost winced at her own words.

The blonde visibly tensed, her distant expression replaced by a blank mask that betrayed no emotions, one that Lexa often found on her own face. The mirth that had become a permanent fixture in her sapphire eyes was gone, replaced by ice, like the end of a cone, so sharp that Lexa felt coldness slicing her skin open without even touching. Lexa had never felt as exposed as she was in that moment, in front of a pair of stone hard blue eyes, not even during the months she spent in a medical facility, feeling utterly powerless as she struggled to get back on her feet.

"I'm sorry," Lexa said quickly, "I didn't mean to intrude. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I shouldn't have let my curiosity get the better of me."

Guarded blue eyes scanned Lexa's face carefully. The blonde woman must have found whatever she was looking for because her body relaxed. The ice in her blue eyes melted, warmth returned to them as the blonde woman offered Lexa a small, almost apologetic smile.

"It's okay," She said, inhaling sharply, "I would be curious too if I was in your position. Let's just say that the circumstances of my departure from Arkadia weren't exactly pleasant."

Lexa nodded. A small part of her wanted to press the blonde woman, but a larger, and much more sensible part of her was surprised that the blonde was willing to tell her anything in the first place.

"I'm Clarke, by the way," Said the blonde as she offered her hand to Lexa, "Clarke Griffin."

"I guessed as much when you told me you own the gallery," Lexa returned her smile and shook Clarke's hand firmly, "not a lot of people in Polis can afford a place like this, even less would be generous enough to gift me her painting. I'm Lexa, Lexa Woods."

"Lexa Woods? You wouldn't happen to be a police officer, would you?" Clarke raised an eyebrow.

"I am," Lexa confirmed, surprise in her voice, "how did you know?"

"Octavia and I went to high school together," Clarke chuckled, "she has been complaining about her 'commander hard-ass' non-stop ever since I got back."

That did sound like Blake.

"Anyway, what are you doing here?" Clarke asked, "I thought cops would be too busy dealing with the Azgeda for midnight art show stops, not that I'm not happy to see you, of course."

"You are right," Lexa sighed and ran a hand through her brunette hair absently, "I just left the station. I didn't mean to come here, I didn't even know about this place, but I must have made a wrong turn somewhere. It's been a rough day."

"Why don't we go upstairs?" Clarke suggested, catching Lexa so off guard that she almost choked on air. The brunette wasn't sure if Clarke's voice was huskier than usual or if her mind was simply playing tricks on her.

"I umm-" Lexa swallowed, her throat suddenly incredibly dry, "I can't, I'm sorry, I have a fiancée."

"I didn't mean it like that," Clarke laughed goodheartedly, "I was just going to offer you a drink. You looked like you could use one."

"Oh," Lexa was sure her cheeks were burning furiously, wanting nothing more than for the ground to crack open and swallow her whole, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

"It's okay," Clarke chuckled, "I can definitely see why you did though, I'm sure girls throw themselves at you."

"So," Lexa cleared her throat, steering the conversation away from the land of social awkwardness, "what about that drink?"

"Right," Clarke shot Lexa an amused look that told the brunette she knew exactly what was going on, "Follow me."

As it turned out, there was much more to the gallery than what Lexa expected. The gallery was a three-story penthouse. The bottom two levels were converted into easily the grandest gallery in Polis, each of them showcasing dozens of paintings that had Lexa's eyes wide in awe. Landscapes beautiful beyond the limits of Lexa's vocabulary, affirming that the magazines Costia read weren't exaggerating the slightest when they called Clarke one of the most promising young artists in the world.

The attic was Clarke's living space. The blonde told Lexa to make herself comfortable on the couch while she got them drinks. Lexa noted that the living room alone was probably as big as the apartment she shared with Costia. A painting caught Lexa's attention. It was the only one that Lexa could see in the attic, but unlike most of Clarke's work, the painting was a portrait. In fact, Lexa didn't think she saw one portrait in the entire exhibition.

There were three figures in the portrait. A middle-aged man with a jovial glint in his eyes and a quirky smile on his lips was on the left, dressed in an impeccably sharp blue suit and a white shirt. He had light brown hair and a pair of very familiar blue eyes, looking at her warmly. On the right was a woman in a long, black dress. Her brunette hair was tied into an elegant knot, her status affirmed by the silky material of her dress that probably cost more than a whole year of Lexa's salary. She looked between them with a fond softness in her brown eyes, where a small girl stood. The child was very young, no more than five or six years old. She had long, curly blonde hair that fell freely behind her back, like a Disney princess. She had a pair of sapphire blue eyes, bright and curious. Many years later, when Lexa looked back to this moment, she would realize that that particular shade of blue became her favorite color the instant she looked into those eyes.

"I painted that when I was fourteen," Lexa was so captivated by the painting that she didn't hear the sound of Clarke's heels clicking. When the blonde spoke, she almost jumped, blinking furiously as she was shaken out of her trance, "It's one of the last happy memories I have of my family."

Clarke set two glasses on the table and poured them a glass of Vodka each. She handed one to Lexa, which the brunette accepted with a stiff nod, and gulped down the content of her own glass in one swallow, "I was seven when my dad was killed in Landon Alley, gunned down by some mugger. I was never as close to my mom as I was to my dad, but she was almost warm and caring. After my dad died, she changed. She became distant; it's almost as if she couldn't stand the thought of being in the same room with her daughter. She shipped me off to boarding school the first chance she got and buried herself in work," Clarke laughed humorlessly as she poured herself another glass of alcohol. There was no hint of menace in her tone, but there wasn't warmth either, "but you already know that. The whole world does."

"I lost someone I loved too," Lexa could tell that whatever Clarke was expecting, condolences she didn't mean or pity that was unwanted, she wasn't expecting an admission of equal power. And if Lexa was honest with herself, she didn't want or plan to offer it to a stranger she just met a few minutes ago until the words were already rolling off her tongue, "my parents were good people, both of them. They were lawyers. We didn't have a lot because my parents didn't work for the rich, they defended the people who couldn't afford a lawyer. I never understood my parents, until Nia had them killed."

Silence.

Clarke had coached her expression to one of neutral at some point, but there was no denying that Lexa's confession took the blonde by surprise. Neither of them spoke, Lexa was looking at Clarke, gauging her reaction. Her face betrayed no emotion, but Lexa found that there was always a trace of something behind those sapphire eyes of hers. This time, it was a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"Is that why you joined the PCPD?"

Lexa nodded, "I was young and idealistic. I always wanted to be part of something greater, so I joined the Army right after high school and served a tour. When I came home, I thought I had done my duty to my people. Then my parents died, and I knew my fight was not over. When Commissioner Miller offered me a job, I didn't even hesitate."

"Your parents sound like great people."

"They were."

"I'm sure they would be proud of you."

"Thank you," Lexa said, hoping that the sincerity she felt was conveyed in her tone. Judging by the soft smile on Clarke's face, it was.

A comfortable silence descended over them until Clarke broke it.

"Is that why you said you had a rough day?" The blonde inquired, "is it because of your job?"

Lexa was hesitant to answer. The people in the force knew better than to ask the Commander such things. Whiskey and silence were how her team dealt with it. Costia and her used to talk about work, hell, when Lexa's parents died, the brunette was a wreck. Costia was the one who got her back on track. But the duo had seen a fair amount of brutality between the two of them, with Lexa as a cop and Costia the Assistant DA, so they quickly agreed to keep work out of their home. If one of them had a particularly rough day, the other would simply hold them, no questions asked.

It may not be healthy, but it works for them.

So Lexa, never the one to talk about the permanent state of emotional wreck her work left her in, almost said no when the question left Clarke's mouth. Not because she didn't trust her, but simply because she never talked to anybody about it. But this was Clarke, and although they just met, she felt like the blonde deserved an explanation for opening up to her about her family.

"My team had a long day," Lexa inhaled sharply, more appreciative of the strong liquor burning in her throat than ever, "a string of home invasions. The last one was the worst. It was in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city. A little girl called the police. She was crying and saying she was scared. By the time we got there, it was too late. The girl hid in the closet, but her parents and sister, who was only five, were already dead. It looked like the father tried to shield them from the bullets, but he couldn't save them. Wanheda was there too, but she didn't get there in time either. The girl told us that she saw Wanheda kill the man who killed her family. The body had more bones broken than forensics could count. Wanheda was so engrossed in brutalizing the invader that she didn't even realize the girl was there until his face was bloody beyond recognition. She told the girl to stay hidden and vanished. The girl was left alone with the bodies of her family and their murderer for God knows how long until my team arrived. The girl's name is Fox, she's only seven, and she's going to be an orphan."

By the time Lexa was finished, her hands were shaking so much that she had to set the glass down to not spill its content. The alcohol did not make her voice steady like she hoped, instead, the feelings that she had long learned to bury made an unwelcoming return. The overwhelming sense of failure whenever she arrived at the scene too late or lost someone. Tears rushing to her eyes as pain shook her system, as if the pain of the victim was the pain of her own. And above everything else, the feeling of attachment to the girl who was left alone in the city, the one thing that Anya had warned her to avoid in the most explicit terms, lest she becomes too emotionally fucked up to continue.

She didn't need to find out the girl's name was Fox. She certainly shouldn't have. Thousands of children in Polis are without a family because of Nia and Fox was no different. She couldn't let herself get attached to every orphan she came across because she wouldn't be able to do her job otherwise. A good cop doesn't let themselves become emotionally compromised. That was the first lesson Anya taught her as a rookie. Just like the day her company was deployed, her Sergeant told her that she was going to see a lot of people die. And more often than not, they'd be innocents who didn't deserve it. Her Sergeant told her she'd get used to it.

"You did your best Lexa. You tried to save them. Sometimes all you can do is your best." Said Clarke in a soothing, comforting voice, but the brunette was anything but soothed.

"That's not good enough," Lexa replied sulkily, loathing herself for not being able to save Fox's family and for being so weak in front of a stranger.

"We are not gods, Lexa. We are human. And there is only so much we can do, have you ever thought of that?"

"That didn't stop Wanheda from acting like one, did it?"

"Wanheda was only trying to do the right thing, same as you."

Something inside Lexa snapped.

"What has she done? Murdering people? My job is to protect people, not kill them."

"Criminals, Wanheda kills criminals who deserve it." Lexa wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or if Clarke all the sudden sounded very defensive, but Lexa took an oath to uphold the law, twice, and she was not going to give some superhero wannabe a free pass.

"It's not Wanheda's place to decide who's guilty and who deserves death," Lexa retorted, "a judge does that. Going around killing people doesn't restore order, it creates more chaos."

"You mean corrupt judges and corrupt cops in Nia's pocket," neither Clarke nor Lexa realized how loud they had become, or, in the heat of the argument, how flushed their faces had become and how close they were, standing on their feet, staring down at each other, their breaths tickling each other's face due to their proximity. But of course, neither of them registered any of it, for they would have jumped apart instantly otherwise, their faces flushing for entirely different reasons.

"If Wanheda really wants to help then she should turn herself in, and let those of us who actually follow the law do our job."

"Really? Because Wanheda kills criminals who would never have answered for their crimes otherwise. She keeps families safe by being willing to do whatever it takes to protect them. That's more than I can say for you."

Lexa flinched. Clarke's words tore into her heart like daggers. The blonde seemed to realize this too because her eyes widened so much that it would have been funny if the situation was comic even the slightest. But it wasn't. Clarke opened her mouth to apologize, but like every bad chick flick written in the last fifty years, Lexa beat her to it.

"Thank you for the drinks, Miss Griffin," Said Lexa coolly, her face stoic, "but I've already taken up enough of your time."

She was gone before Clarke could figure out how to ask her to stay.

For better or worse, Lexa's Sergeant was wrong. By the time Lexa was airlifted to Germany, she had lost count of how many people she couldn't save. But she never learned to numb the pain. She only learned to act as if she did.

* * *

 _Next time on The Ice Queen_

 _"What is it?" Clarke frowned. Maya's voice was tense and her body language rigid, the two things together usually spelled disaster._

 _"A stress signal was sent from a cargo ship twenty minutes ago," Maya began explaining as the duo rushed to the staircase, taking two steps at a time until Clarke's attic entered their view, "It's only a matter of time before the PCPD picks it up."_

 _"What's so special about this ship?"_

 _"You really need to get down there."_


	2. The Freighter

**Chapter Two: The Freighter**

The girl's name was Fox Buchanan. She was seven years old. Her sister, Roma, was only five when she was killed in a home invasion. The perpetrator, a confirmed member of the gang Azgeda, met his end when the vigilante Wanheda executed him for his crimes by beating him to death. He drowned in his own blood as a broken rib pierced his lung. The city has placed her in an orphanage funded by Griffin Enterprises until the age of eighteen or until they find an adoptive family for her.

Like every other orphan, the city set up a memoir fund for her in the hope her tragic loss will solicit donations or find her a foster family, however unlikely such things have become in the recent years. The morning after the home invasion, her memoir fund received an anonymous donation of three million dollars, a staggeringly generous amount for an orphan in Polis.

Clarke Griffin sighed as she closed the tab, switched off her computer and returned her focus to the canvas in front of her. It was blank, despite the blonde having spent the better part of the morning sitting in front of it. Usually, Clarke took pride in the fact that art was second nature to her. With a piece of paper on her lap and a paintbrush in her hand, colors and lines usually weaved themselves into intricate patterns as inspiration flowed.

Today was not one of those days.

Sleep evaded her all night. After hours of futile attempts, Clarke figured she might as well get ready for the day. She tightened her grip on the brush, so hard that the blonde thought it might snap. Her mind had been plagued by unwelcome thoughts since Lexa stormed out of her gallery last night. A terrified Fox crying and screaming, shaking her sister's body and yelling at her to wake up. The gangster whimpering and writhing as he begged for mercy until his pleas for drowned out by the sound of him choking on his own blood. Wanheda, guarded by her gleaming black armor, seeing nothing but red. Fox's jacket, red from her sister's blood. The gangstar's face, broken and smeared with his own blood. Wanheda's gauntlet-clad hands too, were painted with blood.

But she couldn't tell whose blood it was. Was it hers? The gangster's? Or Fox's family's? The imagery made her stomach twist in knots.

Was Lexa right? Was Wanheda just another outlaw? Like Nia? A sense of duty was the reason she started, but beating a man to death in front of a little girl clouded her mind with doubts. The worst part was, she was so caught up in brutalizing the gangster that she didn't even realize the girl was there until the red had receded. No matter how many showers she took, how hard she scrubbed her hands, she still felt dirty.

Then, Lexa herself began occupying Clarke's mind. She was nothing like what Clarke expected. From Octavia's colorful description, Clarke imagined a seasoned veteran, hardened by years of fighting the worst of the Azgeda on the streets. Instead, she found an exhausted young woman outside her gallery. Lexa looked surprisingly small and vulnerable as she told Clarke about her parents and her last call. But at the same time, Lexa was everything Clarke expected. The intensity of the fire that burned in her eyes and the venom in her voice as she spat Nia's name, the force behind her words as she lashed out at Wanheda. She was every bit of the fierce warrior Octavia made her out to be, determined and driven by a desire to protect her people.

Lexa was intriguing. Even more so in person than the character she constructed from the thick folder which she had long buried. Without knowing, the paintbrush Clarke was clenching had begun dancing on its own accords. Dip, sweep, repeat. Simple, yet effective, and the result was undeniably beautiful. The canvas was no longer blank. Onlookers would only see a dot, tiny and meaningless. Critics would praise the beautiful shade of green that must have taken the artist hours of delicate work to produce, like the forest, like the spring, it was deep, it was endless, it was infinite, a simple touch that breathed life into the void of emptiness. Clarke noticed that the green occupied a latitude of a little over one centimeter, roughly the same length as an iris.

Her phone rang, snapping Clarke out of her trance.

The blonde dropped her brush like it burned, and snatched up her GE-built phone, relieved that she finally had an excuse to step away from the canvas.

Maya: Dante's here 2 see u.

Clarke frowned at the screen. If anyone in Polis was as well regarded as her mother, it was Dante Wallace, owner of Mt. Weather Corp. Dante and Jake put aside their companies' rivalry and almost exhausted their personal fortunes during the Great Recession to help Polis' poor. Jake Griffin's death triggered a warning bell to those who were well-off in the city. Eventually, the rest of them followed Jake's example and helped Polis to recover from the recession, creating an illusion of prosperity that was shattered violently when Nia assassinated Mayor Dianna Sydney a few years later and unleashed her reign of terror. Griffin Enterprise expanded their business into telecommunications and alternative energy, while Mt. Weather Corp took on a much more controversial route and delved into heavy arms production.

Scrubbing the paint from her hands the best she could, Clarke hastily straightened her shirt and sent a quick message to Maya. By the time Clarke made her way down to the second level where she usually met with clients, Dante was already waiting for her.

Dante was the typical grandfather image, with a kind smile on his face in every memory Clarke had of him. And despite the controversies surrounding Mt. Weather's arms sales, there was always an unmistakably genuine admiration and respect in Dante's employees' eyes every time they greeted him, which was why he was one of the few people Clarke considered a friend in the treacherous waters of Polis.

Like always, Dante smiled when he saw Clarke, but it did not reach his eyes. Dante never failed to have a calming effect on everyone around him, but this time, the only emotion Clarke could detect from the man was anxiety. There were wrinkles on his forehead, accompanied by bloodshot in his eyes. Dante's fair skin was paper pale like he had just been gravely ill, and it looked as though he had aged twenty years since Clarke last saw him.

"Dante," Clarke greeted with blissful ignorance, "what a pleasant surprise."

"It's always good to see you, Clarke," said Dante warmly, though his voice was somewhat strained.

"What are you doing here?" Clarke asked once they were seated.

"I took a look around earlier, and I have to say that you outdid yourself," Dante replied, sipping on his coffee, "It's truly an impressive exhibition."

"An impressive exhibition which nobody shows up for," Clarke remarked drily, "are you looking for another painting to add to your collection?"

"No, I'm here because I have a commission for you."

"For your office?"

"For Cage's."

"Cage?" Clarke couldn't have faked the surprise in her voice even if she tried. The blonde was certain her eyebrows must have shot up to her hairline because for the son of a renowned art collector, Cage Wallace's total lack of appreciation for art was staggering. That, and the fact that Clarke and Cages established their mutual disdain within ten minutes of meeting each other added to her surprise at Dante's request.

"Yes, Cage," Dante chuckled at Clarke's shocked reaction, "and before you ask, he has not found a sudden liking for arts."

"So where is this coming from then?"

"As you know, my son and I have had a difficult relationship," Dante sighed in a resigned and tired tone, "especially after my wife passed away. Cage has made a significant amount of profits for the company from arms sales, but that's all he sees. Profits. My son will inherit the company one day, and when he does, I fear the direction he's going to take it. So I told him about my plans to shut down arms production, and he didn't take it very well. But a few days ago, Cage came to me and told me that he understands my decision and that he wants to oversee the construction of the air base from now on. I thought we might still be able to mend things between us."

"Say no more," Clarke gave Dante a look of understanding, not buying Cage's crisis of conscience for a second but nevertheless not showing it, "when do you want it?"

"Let's say, after Unity Day?" Dante suggested.

"I'm okay with that," Clarke nodded, "I will have plenty of time on my hands once this exhibition finishes."

"If anything changes, I'll let you know when I see you at Mayor's Ball."

Clarke groaned internally. The Annual Mayor's Ball will be held at City Hall in a week, where the élite of Polis gather to smile and shake hands while pretending to not hate each other, though newly elected Mayors traditionally use it as an opportunity to outline their vision and solicit support from rich snobs like Cage. Clarke hated social gatherings like this, but as the sole heir to the prestigious Griffin Enterprise, her absence would draw too much unwanted media attention. With her night job, Clarke couldn't afford any at all.

"I guess. Was there anything else you wanted?"

"I would love to stay around and chat with my favorite artist," Dante chuckled, his eyes glancing behind Clarke, "but it looks like your assistant is antsy to talk to you."

Clarke turned around, her eyes following Dante's line of sight until they landed on Maya. The other girl's eyes burned with urgency, and while she appeared discrete enough as to not alert Dante, Clarke could tell that she was about to march over to the pair and physically drag her away from the conversation. With a small nod at Maya, Clarke excused herself and took off after the girl.

"There's something you need to see," Maya wasted no time after Clarke caught up with her, "Monty is already there, Raven is on the line as well."

"What is it?" Clarke frowned. Maya's voice was tense and her body language rigid, the two things together usually spelled disaster.

"A stress signal was sent from a cargo ship twenty minutes ago," Maya began explaining as the duo rushed to the staircase, taking two steps at a time until Clarke's attic entered their view, "it's only a matter of time before the PCPD picks it up."

"What's so special about this ship?"

"You really need to get down there."

* * *

The walk to the Ark was the same as always, and after taking the same route for thousands of times, Clarke could have made it with her eyes closed. She and Maya crossed the living room into the study. Clarke picked up two pieces from the chessboard and swapped their positions before removing two books from the shelf and placed them on top of each other methodically.

"Skaikru," Clarke spoke, and the shelf rotated like a revolving door, spinning away from the wall until it sunk into the surface, revealing a metal door and a number pad. The blonde entered the code and aligned her eye with the camera for the retinal scan. With a dull, metallic thud, the door slid open and the pair stepped into the confined space of the elevator.

"At 7:12 pm, a freighter just off Polis Port sent out a distress signal, we think the ship has likely been hijacked," Raven launched into an explanation as soon as the elevator slid open again, "the reason the police hasn't picked this up is that the distress signal is set to a specific frequency, too low to be detected by amateur radios, or the PCPD, for that matter."

"So they don't want to draw the police's attention," Clarke nodded, "there must be a reason for that, maybe it's one of the Azgeda's vessels. What's on the manifest?"

"That's the thing," said Monty, "there is no official record of the ship. I checked Port Polis' logs for the last seven days, and I couldn't find anything at all. No vessel is scheduled to depart from or dock at the port this evening."

"Is there a way for us to track down where the ship came from?" Clarke asked.

"There isn't," Raven's voice bounced off the speaker, "but remember that frequency I was talking about? I analyzed it and turned out it's designed for one specific telecommunication channel, highly encrypted with a complex coding that automatically resets itself every thirty seconds, so hacking into it or tracing it to the receiving terminal without alerting whoever is on the other end would be nearly impossible. The good news is that there is only one place in Polis where this kind of technology is in use, which means whoever owns this technology also owns the vessel."

"Who?"

"You."

"Me?" Clarke's eyebrows shot up. She blinked hard and thought she must have heard it wrong until Raven gave her the same answer again.

"How do you know for sure that this came from GE?"

"Because Abby put me in charge of the project herself. I designed an encryption device so secure that not even a genius, i.e. me, can crack the transmission."

"What is that mother of mine up to?" Clarke whispered.

"I'll be damned if I know, she never lets me in on the secrets.

"Well, you must have built a backdoor or something, right?" Asked Clarke exasperatedly.

"Anyone with the tech and the brains can find a backdoor," Raven shrugged, "and Cage has plenty of people like that working for him. Besides, Wick created an AI specifically for this project. It rewrites the code once every thirty seconds automatically. If that asshole was helping me then maybe I can work something out, but I wouldn't trust him to keep a secret for his life."

"Can you find us a way in?" Clarke turned to Monty.

"If I had more time to study the patterns, or if I could see the schematics of the encryption device, then maybe," Monty looked like he was out of ideas, "but even if I could crack it, it'd take too long with the hijack happening."

"Like Monty said, there's no way we can hack into it," Raven continued, "and I just went through GE's system. Predictably, I couldn't find anything about a vessel that doesn't exist. Given how vast GE's network is, it could range from experimental medicine to computer chips to prototype lasers. If there's any record then it would be on paper, and Abby would be the only one with access to it."

"Can we at least identify the hijackers?"

"The satellites didn't pick up anything that might give us a clue," Monty replied, "we are looking at professionals. The logical explanation would be Nia, but it could easily be someone else looking to access whatever the ship's carrying. Maybe the DA's paranoid ass, if he convinced himself again that GE is up to some shady business. Should I inform the PCPD?"

"Yes," Clarke nodded, "tell Octavia the hijackers are likely to have already taken control of the vessel. And send the coordinates to the Dropship's computer, I'm going in."

* * *

The Dropship was a multi-purpose aerial vehicle designed for next-generation urban warfare. The Air Force brass was very impressed by the Dropship's extreme maneuvering capabilities and the display of firepower, but eventually, the suits in the Pentagon bowed out due to serious over-cost and awarded the contract to Mt. Weather instead, much to the chagrin of Congressman Vincent Vie. When Clarke told Raven about her grand plan to save the soul of Polis, her Latina best friend decided to liberate the prototype from Applied Science's underground warehouse, gave it a repaint and made a few upgrades of her own. That led to the Dropship hovering over the GE vessel on autopilot as Clarke activated the thermal imaging radar.

"The radar is picking up eleven heat signatures," Clarke spoke into the comm of her helmet, "all armed."

"That means the ship's crew is dead," said Monty.

"Unfortunately," Clarke replied and punched a few buttons on the Dropship's control panel. The cargo door located on the floor of the airship slid open, and Clarke attached a metal cable to her belt and dove into the darkness.

The water splashed loudly as her body crashed into it, but the GE vessel was too far away for any hijacker to be alerted. The armored vigilante unhooked the cable and swam until the hull of the freighter came into her view. Clarke spun around, her back pressed against the metallic surface of the hull as she tapped her gauntlet. The screen flashed into life with a dim light, displaying the thermal imaging from the Dropship's radar. Clarke memorized the positions of the hijackers with a quick glance, the gears in her brain turning at a rapid pace.

Once satisfied with her plan, Clarke turned off the display with a swipe and re-surfaced. She reached out an arm, her gloved hand making contact with the hull. The gauntlet beamed red for a brief second, signaling the activation of the magnetic lock. Clarke repeated the same motion with her other arm and began scaling the hull.

Clarke swung her body over the edge, landing on the freighter's deck silently. The darkness of the night provided her the perfect cover from the hijackers as she made quick work of two armed men on guard, slicing their throats open with a single slash of her dagger.

Two down, nine to go.

The rest of the hijackers converged around a large shipping container, all dressed in jackets and beanies and armed with German-made MP5 submachine guns, standard issue for the Azgeda. Clarke made her way across the deck silently, staying in the shadows to hide her moving figure from the hijackers. She removed a smoke grenade from her belt and rolled it to the hijackers soundlessly. Before they knew what was happening, smoke was already choking their nostrils.

Clarke jumped, landing on a hijacker and bringing him down with force of the impact. The masked vigilante swirled right, delivering a powerful swing to another hijacker and sending him crashing into the container with a loud thud. The remaining hijackers realized that they were under attack and began bringing up their weapons, but not before Clarke dropped another thug with a well-placed kick to the gut.

A hijacker opened fire, only for Clarke to throw her body aside, bringing up her leg and swiping him off his feet using the momentum of the motion. Clarke brought up her foot again before slamming it down into the hijacker's face, knocking him out cold. Clarke reached down, snatching the hijacker's abandoned gun and hurled it with a flicker of her wrist. The weapon struck hijacker No. 7, knocking him into hijacker No. 8 before either of them could shoot.

Clarke sprinted, dodging a spray of bullets from another thug and threw her body into a spin using her right foot as leverage, jamming her heel into the thug's chest. Loud noises of ribs breaking and the thug crying could be heard as his face smashed against the container, rendering him unconscious as well. The masked vigilante leaped off her feet just as thugs No. 7 and No. 8 were about to get back up, kicking them back down for good as her heels connected with their abdomens.

Thug No. 10 fire his weapon rapidly, but Clarke only rolled off thugs No. 7 and No. 8. Thug No. 10 took aim and fired again, but to no avail. Clarke jumped, twisting her body mid-air as the bullets struck the empty space behind her. The masked vigilante landed before the hijacker could fire again, grabbing the barrel of the submachine gun and shoving it into the thug's face. The metal connected with the hijacker's nose, shattering the bone effectively as blood exploded in his face, stunning him just long enough for Clarke to knock him out with an elbow to the skull.

The last hijacker advanced, opening fire at Clarke as soon as he lined up a clean shot. Clarke swirled around, avoiding the bullets with ease. The hijacker fired again before Clarke could regain her footing, forcing her to scramble for covering behind the metal container. Hijacker No. 11 was different. He didn't waste his ammo like Nia's thugs. Instead, he fired shorts bursts of bullets with a precision that could only be mastered with years of training. His equipment was different too. Unlike Nia's thugs, hijacker No. 11 was wearing a black helmet and chest vest, like a seasoned covert operative on a mission. He didn't wield a submachine gun, but rather, a silenced assault rifle.

It didn't take a Raven Reyes to figure out that thug No. 11 was no average street brawler.

Clarke darted out of her cover, the hijacker fired almost immediately, but the masked vigilante only brought up her arm guards in front of her helmet. The bullets bounced off the armor as Clarke quickly advanced on the hijacker. Making a mental note to thank Raven later, Clarke grabbed the rifle's barrel and yanked it from the hijacker with brute force, but he was prepared for it. The hijacker whipped out his sidearm and aimed it at Clarke. The only thing that saved her from having to find out just how bulletproof her helmet was at point blank the hard way was years of training and the instant reflexes developed from it.

The bullet hit the container and bounced off it harmlessly. Clarke wrapped her hand around the back of thug No. 11's neck and shoved him against the container, forcing the hijacker to drop his pistol.

"Who-" Thug No. 11 moved before Clarke could even finish her question, swinging up his elbow and slammed it into her face roughly, catching the masked vigilante completely off guard as she stumbled back, her helmet was the only reason she was still conscious.

The hijacker took advantage of Clarke's momentarily fazed state and slammed his body into her, crashing both of them into the floor. Thug No. 11 brought up a fist and brought it down hard. He raised his fist again, but this time Clarke was ready. She blocked his punch, catching his fist with her own and jerking her body up, head-butting the hijacker. The force of the impact knocked thug No. 11 off his balance, giving Clarke the opportunity to jump back onto her feet.

Clarke sent a jab at thug No. 11's chest, only for him to deflect the blow. The masked vigilante, however, quickly followed with a kick to the back of the hijacker's knee, bringing him down just in time for her fist to connect with his nose. The hijacker landed on his back. He tried to get up, only to have a knee rammed into his chest, forcing him back down on the deck.

"Who sent you?" Clarke demanded as she jammed her arm guard onto the hijacker's jaw, choking him as he struggled against the pressure on his throat.

"Who sent you!" Clarke bellowed, slamming her knee into the hijacker's stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"F- Fuck you," the hijacker spat, giving Clarke a twisted grin before reaching his down to his belt and bringing up a knife. Clarke darted back, but the swing wasn't aimed at her. Instead, the hijacker rammed the blade into his own temple. He was dead before Clarke could even react.

"Fuck," Clarke cursed as she stood up. She picked up the hijacker's long-dropped assault rifle and inspected it, only to find that the serial number had been erased. The masked vigilante moved to the container and yanked it open, but it was empty. Whatever the vessel carrying had already been taken by the hijackers. She was too late.

Fuck.

"I ran a facial recognition on your guy," Monty said as he tapped on the keyboard, bringing up a photo of the hijacker and an Army ID, "Sergeant James Shaw, United States Army, Bronze Star recipient. He was a member of the special forces, killed in an operation in Anbar Province eight years ago. That's what the official Army record says anyway."

"Unless I spent ten minutes wrestling a ghost, it's safe to say that he didn't die in Iraq," Clarke said, shedding the armor for a button-down and a pair of jeans.

"According to statements given by his teammates, their Humvee was hit by a rocket. By the time the team regrouped, Shaw was nowhere to be found, so they assumed he was KIA," Monty continued, "a body was never found."

"Did they notice anything suspicious before the operation?" Clarke asked, "any unusual behavior?"

Monty shook his head, "before you ask, Shaw's files say he didn't have a family, and I didn't find a bank account under his name either."

"You said he killed himself?" Raven asked, earning a nod from Clarke, "well, that's strange. I doubt a thug of Nia's would be this fanatic."

"This guy wasn't a thug," Clarke shook her head, "he was a merc."

"How much money do you have to pay a merc to get them to bite the bullet? Something feels off."

"I don't know," Clarke sighed, "what about his rifle? Can we trace it back to the source?"

"It's definitely custom built," Raven hummed as she examined the weapon, "looks like he recalibrated his aim as well. I can take it apart, for a customized rifle there's bound to be some parts that can be traced. But it's going to take some time. Weeks."

"Do we have any idea where they might have taken the cargo?"

"Someone looped the cameras in the port a few before the distress signal was sent," Monty replied, "I've got nothing. We would have a better chance if you asked your mother."

"How am I possibly going to explain to her how I found out about the freighter?" Said Clarke sarcastically, "Hey Mom, did I tell you that I decided to dress myself up like Superman and beat up thugs at night? Oh, and what's on that ship which I'm not even supposed to know existed?"

"I think you mean Supergirl," said Monty.

"a. I don't fight in miniskirts," Clarke rolled her eyes, "b. I don't wear knee-high boots."

Monty opened his mouth, but Clarke's phone rang before he could say anything else.

"Sorry to disturb you Clarke," Came Maya's voice, "but you have a visitor."

"Someone to see the exhibition?"

"No. It's a cop."

* * *

"Oh." A surprised sound left Clarke's mouth when she saw Lexa in her lobby.

Lexa shuffled her feet, her gaze averted from Clarke.

"I didn't think you'd come back here," Clarke said after a few seconds of silence.

"I wasn't planning to," said Lexa awkwardly, looking as if Clarke's gallery was the last place she wanted to be, "but, umm, I wanted to apologize. You were kind to me, and I overreacted. I'm sorry."

"We both overreacted," Clarke replied, "and your apology is accepted as long as you let me give you a proper tour of the exhibition some other time."

"I can do that," Lexa gave her a small smile.

"You look like you had another rough day," The blonde observed.

"I can't remember the last time I didn't," Lexa chuckled humorlessly, "Though I see that doesn't seem to be the case for you."

If only you knew.

"I don't think people have time to appreciate art anymore, not when they are too busy trying to stay alive."

"But not you." It was a statement.

"No, I suppose not," Clarke offered the brunette a small smile, "I just figured that if I stopped doing what I loved because I was afraid, then Nia wins, doesn't she? Do you want to talk about your day?"

"My team responded a hot call - a hijacked freighter," Lexa said, "and the only reason I'm telling you this is because the freighter is registered under Griffin Enterprise, so it's technically yours."

"What did you find?" Clarke mustered as much surprise in her voice as she could manage. Fortunately for her, Lexa didn't look like she suspected a thing.

"The crew was dead by the time we got there, so were the hijackers. We assume it's the work of Wanheda. The cargo was gone as well, so either the hijackers got what they were after or Wanheda took it."

"What was the freighter carrying anyway?"

"We don't know," Lexa shrugged, "the GE board wasn't inclined to share that piece of information with Commissioner Miller and the court wouldn't issue a warrant for a case like this."

"I wish I could help you."

I really do.

"But half the board hates me, and the other half wants my autograph for their kids," Clarke joked, and she felt her mood elevating instantly when she saw the small smile tugging at the corner of Lexa's lips.

"Aren't you on the board?"

"I guess that's true, but I never attend the meetings. Business just isn't for me."

"I should get going," Lexa said after a brief pause, "I don't want to take up more of your time than I already have."

"You aren't taking up my time Lexa," Clarke replied, this time without an ulterior motive, "I like talking to you."

"That's very kind of you to say," Lexa looked at Clarke apologetically, "but I do have to go. Costia will be worried."

"Is she your fiancée?"

Lexa nodded.

"She's the Assistant DA. You'd like her," Lexa smiled at the mention of her fiancée, "I'll see you later."

"Wait!" Clarke half-said, half-shouted, before disappearing into the gallery. When she appeared again, she was holding the charcoal drawing from the night before, "you forgot to take this with you."

That drew another smile from Lexa.

"Thank you, Clarke."

"Don't mention it."

* * *

 _Next time on The Ice Queen_

 _"I am nothing like you!" Lexa snapped, "you are an outlaw, you are no better than Nia!"_

 _"I fight criminals," said Wanheda firmly, "I protect innocent people from gangsters like Nia. We both want the same thing, to end Nia's crime empire and restore peace to Polis."_

 _"That may be so," Lexa was unrelenting, "but I don't play God, nobody gave me that right."_


	3. The Chase

**Chapter Three: The Chase**

Lexa is the Commander of a special police task force set up by Commissioner David Miller, with the intention of gathering the finest talents of the department and see if they can counter threats regular cops don't have the means to. As such, Lexa is one of the most senior officers in the PCPD, which makes her an incredibly busy woman.

Costia, on the other hand, worked for Charles Pike, the hard-ass DA who talks about squashing the Azgeda and restoring law and order with a mad glint in his eyes and political ambitions well-known among Polis' elite. That makes her an incredibly busy woman as well.

That combined means it's exceptionally rare that the pair of them get the same day off. And when they do, they are sure to make the most of it. Today was one of those days.

Costia always relished the opportunity to sleep in, so Lexa knew better than to disturb her fiancée in the morning. The brunette, on the other hand, had a morning routine wired in her after years in the military and then the police, making it impossible for her to stay asleep past 5 am even if she tried. So Lexa untangled herself from Costia's arms and slipped out of the cover quietly.

She inhaled the fresh morning air deeply as her bare feet touched the floor. Lexa threw on her Army T-shirt and a hoodie and left her apartment for her routine morning run. By the time she returned, Costia was still lying in bed peacefully. After a quick shower, Lexa went into the kitchen and started making breakfast. Her culinary skills were severely limited, which was why Costia was usually responsible for keeping them fed. Today, however, Lexa wanted to take care of her fiancée. She was just about to pat herself on the back for successfully making some edible-looking eggs without blowing up the kitchen when she felt a warm pair of arms wrapping around her abdomen.

"Good morning," Costia slurred, sleep still in her voice as she pressed a kiss to the back of Lexa's neck.

"You are up early," Lexa smiled softly, turning around so she could kiss her fiancé properly. Costia's caramel eyes were bleary, but glowing with warmth as always. Her dark hair was smooth, falling below her shoulder loosely but messy and slightly tangled from sleep.

"Well, we finally get a day off work together and I don't want to spend it in bed," Costia grinned before winking at Lexa suggestively, "on second thought, I do."

"Let's put some food in your belly first," Lexa chuckled, pushing a plate of scrambled eggs toward Costia, "then we can do something more fun."

"But what if we get food poisoning from your cooking?" Costia frowned, looking at the plate warily like it's a bomb.

"Then we'll get food poisoning together."

"You are such a romantic," Costia laughed, "but if we do get food poisoning, I'm blaming it on you."

"It can't be that bad."

"Have you had your cooking?"

"Fair enough."

After a breakfast which surprisingly didn't result in either of them rushing to the toilet, the couple decided to make themselves comfortable. Costia sprawled across the couch, her head resting on Lexa's lap, while the brunette looked at her fiancée with a soft look reserved only for her as she ran a hand through Costia's hair.

"The Mayor's Ball is coming up in a few days," said Costia.

Lexa made a disgruntled look, "let me guess; I have to go."

"Even better," Costia gave her fiancée a smirk that Lexa could only describe as wicked, "you have to wear a dress."

Lexa felt despair.

"Aww, don't look so grumpy," Said Costia playfully, reaching up so she could pull Lexa in for a kiss, "better now?"

"Hmm…" Lexa purred, choosing to respond with quiet sounds of content instead of words.

"How about I pick out a dress for you?" Costia offered.

"Can we just pretend it's not happening?"

"We sure can," Costia chuckled, "so what else do you want to talk about?"

Lexa shrugged, "I don't know. How are things at work?"

"Pike's got the whole office working around the clock," Costia sounded annoyed, "he's putting together a case against Mt. Weather."

"Dante Wallace?" Lexa raised an eyebrow.

"His son, Cage."

"Why now?"

"Apparently Pike has a source telling him that Cage's involved in something shady. Pike wouldn't tell me who his source is or what his source gave him. Personally, I think he watches too many movies."

"Wait a second," Lexa sat up, "Pike has always been a paranoid asshole, sure, and it's not exactly a secret that he hates Cage, but Pike never prosecutes anyone unless he's convinced that he can nail them to the wall. If he's going after someone as high profile as Cage Wallace, then he must have something solid."

"Maybe he's running for Mayor," Costia shrugged, "Pike only endorsed Kane because he knew he'd never beat him. Kane has a very bold agenda that could go wrong in so many different ways, and Pike has enough friends on the Council to make it happen. If the public loses faith in Kane, and Pike uncovers a massive scandal, he will be empowered to make a move for a higher office."

"I hate politics," Lexa muttered.

"Really? I couldn't tell," Costia grinned, "what about you? How's work?"

"Anya and Indra spend all their time arguing about basketball, and Gustus won't stop talking about this post-apocalyptic TV show he's watching."

"What about Wanheda?"

"What about her?"

"I still think we should work with Wanheda."

"I thought we've been through this," Lexa sighed.

"We haven't been through this; you were too stubborn to even listen to what I wanted to say. Crime is dropping for the first time in years because of Wanheda. We all want to clean up the streets, so why not work together?"

"There is no 'working together' with Wanheda when it comes to the law. We are trying to restore it, Wanheda tramples it. She's just as bad as Nia."

"Guess no more talking about work then." Costia sounded resigned.

"I have a much better idea anyway."

Twenty minutes later, Lexa was lying on the mattress, her back arching as she let out a whimper. She was panting and gasping, her shirt drenched in sweat from the intensity of her current activities. Her pants were discarded somewhere between the couch and the bedroom, and her panties were dangling on her ankle, while a furry mess of black hair dove between her legs.

Wet tongue and slender fingers assaulted her center relentlessly as Lexa led out another pitiful gasp. Costia had the most talented fingers Lexa had ever seen, while her tongue was so good that Lexa thought they should make it a national monument, though it wasn't as if there were a lot of women to draw comparison from. Sure Lexa had been with her fair share of women. First sexual encounter in high school, a handful of hookups in the Army, a cute nurse in Germany, and random girls she picked up from bars all over Polis, but in most instances she was too drunk to even remember what her last one night stand looked like.

Costia's tongue made a swipe and Lexa fucking cried. Her fiancée's head was too far up between her thighs for Lexa to get a look at her face, not that the brunette was capable of any coherent motion in her current state, but she could tell that Costia was smirking. Out of all the girls Lexa had ever been with, Costia was also definitely the smuggest in bed.

Lexa snapped her head around sharply and sunk her teeth into the pillow just in time to muzzle what would have been an embarrassingly loud scream as Costia's fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot.

"Please Cos, I'm so close," Lexa begged pathetically, all of her Commander's dignity gone, "please."

"Since you are asking so nicely," Costia paused briefly, shot Lexa a smirk, before thrusting three fingers into Lexa's throbbing center.

Lexa saw stars. The brunette was certain she was whimpering and writhing pathetically, but she was beyond caring. Swipe, thrust, twirl, and Lexa grabbed a fistful of sheets, desperate for something to anchor herself as her head rolled back, Costia's name rolling off her tongue in a shamelessly loud scream. Her body was shaking, pressure building up in her hips steadily as she sprinted toward the finishing line. She was so close. One more touch, one more second and the only thing that could deny her an Earth-shattering orgasm was Aphrodite herself.

 _Ring!_

Or a call from work.

"Fuck!" Lexa cursed, panting heavily as she tried to even her ragged breath. Frustration was evident in her voice as she shot Costia an apologetic look. Lexa flipped over and snatched up her phone from the nightstand. Every cell in her body was on edge, and if she didn't explode from the stimulation of pleasure, then she would explode from the rage she was feeling.

"This is Woods."

 _Someone'd better have set City Hall on fire._

"I'm really sorry to do this on your day off," It was the Commissioner, "but we have a situation. I'm calling in every off-duty officer."

"What's going on?"

"It's Nia, she's making a move."

 _Next time, fuck first, talk later._

* * *

As it turns out, someone called the PCPD and tipped them off that the Azgeda was making a pickup from the air base construction site. The content was unknown, but Miller suspected that it might be explosives for a major attack, and promptly dispatched every cop under his command to the site.

By the time Lexa's team arrived in their black SUVs, light flashing and weapons loaded, a few SWAT trucks and patrol cruisers were already there. The brunette checked the straps of her chest vest and jumped out of the car.

"Commander," a SWAT Sergeant greeted her, "Sergeant Parker, SWAT Team One."

"What do you have for me?"

"My men are securing the perimeter, but there is a lot of ground to cover. More cruisers are on the way."

"Any sign of the Azgeda?" Lexa asked.

"I've got uniforms sweeping the construction site, but nothing so far," the Sergeant shook his head, "one of my guys spoke with the manager, but he said he hasn't seen anything out of place."

"Where is the manager? I'd like to talk to him," Lexa said.

"Right this way."

Parker led Lexa across the construction site, passing many workers who stopped to look at the two heavily armed officers curiously. They crossed an empty field filled with busy workers and a few cranes, where another SWAT officer could be seen talking to a man.

The man easily stood out from a sea of construction workers. He had brown hair and dark blue eyes, clad in a white dress shirt and a pair of brown utility pants with a baseball cap in matching color on. He looked to be in his late 30s but very well built. Lexa could see the defined muscles in his arms and chest as she approached. He had a pleasant, if not a friendly look on his face, but he was more smirking than smiling as he greeted Lexa. His eyes were blue, but they could not be more different from Clarke's blue. While Clarke's eyes promised life and adventure, the man's eyes were chilling, like the uncharted waters. Too deep to be touched by the warmth of sunlight, with a million dangerous creatures lurking in the darkness, some of them too ancient to be remembered by humankind. And whether water floods your lungs, ice snuffles out your warmth or pressure crushes your bones, there is only one ending - death. If Hades ruled the oceans, then this would be his palace.

"Lieutenant Carl Emerson, Mt. Weather Security Detail," The man offered Lexa his hand, and while the arrogance in his posture was unmistakable, his eyes were calculating. Every internal alarm bell in Lexa's brain went off at the sight of this man, "I oversee security at the construction site."

"Commander Lexa Woods, PCPD," Lexa shook his hand. His grip was firm, "are you in charge here?"

"I am."

"We received reports about possible gang-related activities earlier," Lexa explained, "have you noticed anything suspicious today? Anyone who's not supposed to be here?"

"Everything looks normal," Emerson replied, "in fact, the only thing that wasn't here yesterday is your trucks."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Very."

Lexa didn't trust Emerson, not the slightest, but she wasn't about to string him up and lash him either, though in hindsight she probably should have. Something happened then. In the corner of her vision, Lexa caught the sight of a truck driving out of the construction site. A uniform approached the vehicle and gestured for it to stop, but the driver ignored him and sped past the cruiser.

"Is that truck one of yours?" Lexa pointed at the truck.

"No," Emerson's eyebrows furrowed with questionable genuineness.

Lexa didn't spare him a second glance.

"Stop that truck!" She cried, but someone beat her to it. The loud sound of engines blasting could be heard as something whizzed past her, something fast. It was the blur of a motorbike.

"It's Wanheda!"

"All units pursue!" Lexa barked as she sprinted back to her SUV, "Miller, send me every uniform in the city, Wanheda is on the move."

The black SUV roared into life as Lexa slammed the gas, propelling the vehicle out of the construction site. Four cruisers were already on the truck's tail when Lexa caught up to them. The truck made a sudden turn, swinging right and squeezing between two sedans into the far right lane. The cruisers followed, but the truck's driver slammed the brake, letting the second vehicle overtake him before swinging back left, brushing past the sedan and returning to the original lane. Two cruisers collided as they tried to mimic the maneuver, but two more remained on the truck's tail.

The truck swirled again, this time slowing down as it twisted right for a brief second before hurling left sharply, the cargo smashing into an unsuspecting cruiser, sending it flying off the road like a golf ball. One last cruiser remained, as did Lexa and Wanheda. The driver slammed the brake again, this time executing a 180 with perfect precision so that it was facing the incoming traffic. The truck was moving again just as both Lexa and Wanheda flew past it. The last cruiser, however, was not so lucky as it made a wild turn right in an attempt to avoid colliding into the truck head-on, crashing into the side of the road as a result.

The loud sound of tires screeching against the pavement surface of the road could be heard as Wanheda's bike came to a stop. The masked vigilante wasted no time in bringing her bike around and resuming the chase while Lexa slammed the brake and performed a 180 of her own.

"Cut them off at the next exit," Lexa tapped her comm, "I'll stay on them."

The truck tried to shake Wanheda off like it did the cruisers, but the masked vigilante moved with the level of agility commanded by only the most skilled bikers, staying on the truck's tail like that one runner in every long distance race, never in the lead but always on the frontrunner's heels, saving their strength for the right moment, the one sudden acceleration that will let them fly past their competitors and crash through the finishing line. Wanheda was the most cunning of all predators, watching her prey like it's already food on the plate, waiting for that moment to strike, to pin her prey to the ground and tears open its throat with her sharp teeth, all in one motion too smooth, too sudden, too precise for the prey to resist.

And she pounced.

Without any warning, the bike twisted left and shot forward like an arrow let loose. Quicker than the blink of an eye, Wanheda was level with the driver. The window shattered with a deafening sound as a shotgun was fired, but Wanheda twisted her body gracefully, like a dancer performing a twirl it has practiced thousands of times before her right arm shot up, reaching through the window and grabbing onto the shotgun just as the driver fired again. This time, Wanheda pushed the weapon up with ease, the bullet missing her harmlessly before Wanheda slammed it down, ripping the shotgun away from the driver with brute force before jamming the butt of the weapon into the driver's face.

Wanheda grabbed the steering wheel with one hand, while the other opened the truck's door. Throwing the unconscious Azgeda thug to the side of the road, the masked vigilante lifted herself from her bike and swung herself into the truck. She pulled the truck over and made her way to the back of the vehicle before ripping the container open.

It was empty.

"Turn around! Put your hands up!"

Wanheda turned, only to find herself on the end of a gunpoint.

"Put your hands where I can see them!" Lexa ordered, staying behind the door of her SUV for cover.

"I am not your enemy," Wanheda said, making no move to obey the command.

"You are a criminal," Lexa replied, her pistol still aimed at Wanheda's face, "it's my job to apprehend criminals."

"The Azgeda is the real enemy, not me. Imagine what we can accomplish if we worked together."

"I will never work with a superhero wannabe."

"I never said I was a hero," countered Wanheda, "I am merely a concerned citizen who wants to rid Polis of crime, just like you."

"I am nothing like you!" Lexa snapped, "you are an outlaw, you are no better than Nia!"

"I fight criminals," Said Wanheda firmly, "I protect innocent people from gangsters like Nia. We both want the same thing, to end Nia's crime empire and restore peace to Polis."

"That may be so," Lexa was unrelenting, "but I don't play God, nobody gave me that right."

"Nobody had to. I stepped up because my people needed me."

"That's enough," Lexa snarled, "you are under arrest. Take off the mask."

"Or what? Are you going to shoot me?"

Lexa shot her, but Wanheda saw it coming. The masked vigilante released a smoke grenade just as the bullet exited the pistol. The brunette tried to take aim again, but smoke blocked her vision. By the time it cleared, Wanheda was nowhere to be seen.

 _This has got to be the worst day off ever._

* * *

"Monty, I need you to find the real truck," Clarke tapped her comm.

"Already on it," Monty replied, "police scanner just picked something up. I'm going to patch the audio feed through."

 _"The truck is a decoy, find out where the real container went."_

 _"Commander? I think we got it."_

 _"Are you certain?"_

 _"Yes. They are shooting at us."_

"Sending you the coordinates now."

The cops weren't lying. A cruiser was in hot pursuit of a truck - definitely the right one this time because two assault rifles were shooting at it. The back of the container was open, revealing a pair of gunmen. Not Nia's thugs, like the driver of the decoy, but mercs wearing black tactical vests and helmets, equipped with assault rifles, just like Shaw, the merc Clarke encountered on the freighter.

The mercs were firing measured, short bursts of shots at the cruiser, and if not for the unsteady movements of the truck and the series of impressive evasive maneuvers performed by the cops, they would have long shaken the cruiser off their tail.

Clarke dimly picked up the cops noticing and radioing in her presence as she swung the clutch, swirling the bike left and overtaking the cruiser in one swift motion. She rammed the gas, and the bike shot forward. The mercs were quick to switch their aim and let loose a rain of bullets at Clarke, but the road was Clarke's stage. The masked vigilante performed a string of sudden accelerations and twists, dodging the bullets skillfully, with the grace a dancer, spinning and turning on a massive dance floor, twirling into and out of a sea of bodies, each step made with the precision and ease that came from years of practice.

The mercs were unrelenting. Fire, switch, aim; fire, switch, aim. Hundreds of bullets must have been sprayed at Clarke, but none of them even grazed her. The masked vigilante tapped the control panel, switching to autopilot before reaching down to her belt, picking up a smoke grenade and throwing it into the open door of the container. She jumped as soon as smoke was released, but the mercs anticipated the move. One of them struck her armored chest with a firm kick, sending the masked vigilante flying before she could even land.

Clarke swore as she fell back on her bike roughly. She changed tactic this time, leaning to the side of the bike to remove her shotgun from the holster. Clarke brought it up and fired, but she missed. Or rather, her target moved. The truck took a sharp swirl left, causing the shell to bounce off the cargo harmlessly. The truck swirled back, but before Clarke could fire again, she noticed that one of the mercs was no longer carrying his rifle. Instead, the merc was holding an RPG, and it was aimed right at her.

With a loud curse, Clarke dropped down as much as the bike allowed, pressing her face into the clutch as she threw the bike right, drifting away just in time as the RPG fired with a whipping sound. The rocket missed Clarke but crashed into the police cruiser. Time slowed down as the cruiser exploded into a massive ball of fire, so much that it was almost comical. But there was no time for mourning, Clarke picked up her bike and kicked it off just as the truck was about to leave her sight.

The masked vigilante reached down to her belt again, this time for a sticky bomb. She accelerated, leaving a trail of bullets behind as she zoned in on the side of the cargo. Clarke slammed the sticky bomb onto the metallic surface and made a sharp turn right just as it went off. A hole was created on the side of the cargo, just enough for Clarke as the masked vigilante brought her bike back left with a hard twist, leaping off her bike and flying through the hole until she landed inside the cargo.

The mercs were caught off guard by the explosion, but they recovered just as Clarke landed. One of them opened fire while the other dropped his RPG for a machine gun. Clarke dropped down wildly, avoiding the bullets while her thighs supported her weight. She bounced back up, jamming her elbow into the side of the merc's forearm, knocking the rifle out of his grip before her other arm shot up, connecting her gloved fist with the merc's nose in a simplistically brutal fashion, crashing his nose.

The merc dropped and Clarke turned to Merc No. 2. Merc No. 2 was shooting his machine gun like it was some overrated video game, and Clarke threw her body off the ground, leaping off her feet and crashing him into the wall of the cargo. The merc brought his machine gun up again, but, in an entirely excessive display of theatrics, Clarke grabbed the muzzle with one hand, while her free arm shot up like a butcher who's about to sever an animal's head from the rest of its body with an ax. Her arm guard swung down, and the force of the blow literally cut the machine gun apart.

"Holy fuck!" The merc's jaw was on the floor. The expression on his face was almost as dramatic as Clarke's show of force, but much more hilarious, so much that Clarke had trouble refraining herself from bursting into laughter. She had a feeling that interrogation was going to be very smooth.

She opened her mouth, preparing her most intimidating voice when the truck shook violently, swiping Clarke off her feet. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the driver was trying to shake her off. The merc whipped his sidearm and shot at her, but Clarke knocked it out of his grip before ramming a hook into his thigh.

"Who do you work for!" Clarke bellowed as the merc grunted and struggled, but the truck shook again. This time, the motion was much more violent. Clarke thought that the bullet must have hit the driver, because the truck was literally thrown into the air as if Heracles himself decided to pick it up by its tail like a struggling ant.

The truck performed a horrendously disgraceful 180 flip mid-air, sending Clarke flying out of the container once again. Clarke crashed into the pavement this time, her back exploded in pain. Grunting, Clarke pushed herself back onto her feet and stumbled her way to the truck. She checked the driver first. The driver was dressed like a merc, and very much dead. The masked vigilante then moved the cargo - the cargo that was smoking. Barrel after barrel was tilted over, some of them had already caught aflame, producing an incredibly pungent smell.

It was chemicals.

"Definitely chemicals," Raven said as she examined the blue powers in the glass container, "something tells me this going to fuck up whoever gets exposed to it."

"What does it do?" Clarke hissed as Maya poured water on her naked back. Normally a topless Clarke Griffin would have every man and woman in Polis drooling, but the ugly wound on her back would give most second thoughts.

"Initial scan suggests it's some kind of psycho-nerve agent," said Monty, "we'll find out more about the compound when the analysis is complete."

"Fifty bucks Nia is trying to unleash the zombie apocalypse," Raven whispered to Maya.

"You are on," Maya grinned before returning to dressing Clarke's wound.

"Could this be the cargo stolen from the GE freighter?" Clarke asked.

"Maybe," Raven shrugged, "but we won't know until the analysis is complete."

"I just IDed the driver," Monty said, "Paul Tilling, CIA."

"Let me guess, official record says he's dead."

"Six years ago in a black op in Pakistan." Monty nodded.

"So we know Nia is definitely working with mercs, the question is why."

"Maybe she needs the extra gun power?" Raven suggested.

"I don't think so," Clarke shook her head, "Nia is too paranoid to use someone who can be bought off by money."

"Whatever she's up to, it's going to be big, and we have to figure it out before it happens."

"I think I have a plan."

* * *

 _Next time on The Ice Queen_

 _"That was interesting," Costia remarked as Clarke strode to Cage with a combination of annoyance and determination, "do you trust her?"_

 _"I do," Lexa nodded, "there aren't a lot of good people in Polis, so when you spot one, they stand out."_

 _"I like her," Costia's eyes were fixed on Clarke, "I can tell that she's compassionate, but I do hope she knows what she's doing. I hope Kane knows what he's doing as well."_


	4. Mayor's Ball

**Chapter Four: Mayor's Ball**

Mayor's Ball was every bit of the lavish extravaganza Lexa remembered. When the brunette arrived with Costia by her side, City Hall was already buzzing.

Wealth, fame, power, everyone came to the Mayor's Ball for a reason. The élite - businessmen and politicians wrapped up in their perfect bubble, cements its grip on Polis' establishment with each hand they shake. Millennials, unspoken aspirations and ambitions in their eyes as they step into the treacherous waters of Polis for the first time, hoping to impress someone with their résumé. Socialites, many of them young women from less than glamorous backgrounds, put on themselves the nicest dress they could find, hoping to elevate themselves from Polis' impoverished neighborhoods.

Lexa loathed it. Costia, on the other hand, was grinning. She wore a long, sleeveless rosy red dress that touched the floor. Her black hair was loose and down -something Lexa wished Costia would do more often. Her caramel eyes were shining as she took it all in, from the sumptuous chandeliers to the candles that were more decorative than luminous, and somehow looked just as luxurious as the glaring diamond necklace the woman clinging onto Councilman Jaha was wearing.

"I barely recognize this place," Costia said, looking very impressed, "and I work next door."

"I just don't see how throwing a ridiculously expensive ball when a quarter of the city is living in poverty will make the people hate the rich snobs even more." Lexa deadpanned.

"Because it's literally impossible for people to hate the rich snobs more than they already do," Costia rolled her eyes. "Play nice, remember? If we are going to clean up the streets, we need to bring down Nia. We can't do that without a bigger budget, and money comes from the rich snobs."

Lexa groaned.

"Don't worry," Costia grinned, "one day, I will be the DA, and you will be the Commissioner. When that happens, we won't have to attend ridiculous functions anymore. In the meantime, let's go shake a few hands."

Lexa let Costia lead her away. They weaved into and out of the crowd. Occasionally, they would stop and greet someone. Costia always wears a pleasant smile on her face as she shakes their hands and laughs at their jokes as if they've been best friends for years. Lexa, on the contrary, could only force herself to not yawn as she nodded along and pretended to find whatever they were saying interesting. When they stepped away for drinks, Lexa let out a sigh of relief.

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" Costia chuckled.

"You are so much better at this than I am," Lexa said as she handed her fiancée a glass of champagne.

"That's why Pike hired me," Costia grinned, "he needed someone to make people like him."

"Then all he had to do was to stop talking," Lexa snorted as she took a sip of her drink.

Costia giggled, "I think Kane is going to give his speech now."

True to her word, Councilman Sinclair was clicking his glass at the front of the ballroom.

"Everyone," Sinclair's voice boomed across the hall. "The Mayor of Polis, Marcus Kane!"

Thunderous applause and cheers exploded from Kane's most fervent supporters as the Mayor, dressed in an impeccable black tuxedo, came into view. He wore the bright, charismatic smile that got him elected as he waved at his supporters, many of them law enforcement, embraced Sinclair and shook hands with Congressman Vincent Vie. Then, he stepped into the spotlight.

"Look at him," someone snickered. Lexa almost dropped her glass when she recognized that it was Carl Emerson, "the boy wonder of Polis. Look at all the people loving him, revering him. How long is it going to take before they turn on this one too?"

A wave of nausea threatened to overcome Lexa. Forcing a smile on her lips, Lexa tore her eyes away from Emerson and turned her attention to Kane.

"Thank you for coming here tonight," Kane began. "When I left home for the Middle East ten years ago, I was an idealistic, if not naïve young man. I had many ambitions, and one of them was that I could finally end all the senseless killing in the region and forge lasting peace. I shook hands with young men and women in uniform. I stood face to face with terrorists and militants. And once, I was in a market in Baghdad went a car bomb went off. I survived, but many were not as fortunate. Yet despite all the obstacles, we persevered. We brought different factions separated by religion, ethnicity and a past of bloodshed together and built a strong central government in Baghdad. If we could do it in Iraq, then we can do it here in Polis!"

Loud cheers and applause interrupted Kane's speech. The Mayor paused, a smile stretched across his mouth as waved and nodded at his supporters. It took a while for the cheering to stop, and when it did, Kane resumed his speech.

"But it will not be easy to restore our city to its former glory, just as it was not easy to end the sectarian conflicts in Iraq. It will take an enormous amount of time and resources, and many obstacles await us along the way, but we will overcome them. We will take back our streets from the Azgeda, and make Polis safe again. To do this, we need a stronger PCPD which receives the funding it needs to effectively counter the threat the Azgeda poses, and I thank Griffin Enterprise for their generous donation that will bring us closer to that goal."

More cheers and applause, a few people shook hands with Abby Griffin.

"But if there is one thing I learned in the Middle East, is that the world is not black and white, and people are not always what they appear on the surface. Many people joined the Azgeda because they had no other choice. Because they would have starved, their family would have starved. They are not bad people who mean to inflict pain upon others. Rather, they joined the gangs for food on the table, for a roof over their heads, and for their family who would otherwise have been stuck in the most dangerous neighborhoods of the city. They were forced to join the gangs because the city would not support them, because the people who were supposed to fight for them serve special interests instead. I say to you, you have a friend in City Hall now. Come forward, lay down your arms, help us make our city safe again. I am willing to issue a blanket pardon to any member of the Azgeda who does so."

Shocked gasps and hushed murmurs broke out across the hall, but this time, the Mayor chose to ignore it.

"The only way to prevent such tragedies from happening again in the future is to tackle the source of the problem. Polis is rotten at its core. The élite, the corporations that control Polis' political and economic establishment have forgotten that their wealth and power came from the people, and must be returned to the people. No longer will Polis be a tax haven for the wealthy, Polis will be a place where all, regardless of their gender, race, and class, can prosper. People need affordable healthcare, people need higher education, people need a decent job, and I have sent City Council legislative proposals to deliver them. You supported me, it is my turn to support you now."

Without another word, Kane turned and walked out of the hall. Cameras were flashing like crazy, and people weren't even trying to hide their shocked reactions anymore. It was chaos.

"What the fuck?" Costia said, shocked, "he just declared war on the most powerful people in Polis. People who can do him in with a snap of their fingers. Doesn't he remember what happened to Sydney?"

"Our new Mayor is either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid," Lexa replied, "either way, I like him even more now."

"Unbelievable."

Up ahead stood a weary Abby Griffin. She was nursing a drink of her own as Lexa approached. The older Griffin woman looked as if she was experiencing a terrible headache after a night filled with cheap shots. There were wrinkles in her forehead. Once Lexa got closer, she realized that she could see heavy, dark bags under her eyes as well, despite the makeup applied to her face. Even though she was well into her forties, Abby retained the fieriness and beauty of her youth. Tonight, however, it seemed as if age was finally catching up to her.

"Give me a sec," Lexa said to her fiancée, before making her way across the hall.

Abby Griffin had long mastered the often outright dangerous art of politics in Polis. And like any other survivor, she looked strong and proud in front of the cameras, but Lexa saw right through her façade. Maybe it was because she was trained to see behind the mask, or maybe it was because she knew exactly what one looked like.

"Missus Griffin," Lexa extended a hand, "Lexa Woods, PCPD. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine."

"I want to thank you for your generous donation," Lexa said, "we are very grateful for your support, Griffin Enterprise has been a reliable partner for years."

"Thank you for keeping our city safe," Abby smiled. "But if you really want to, you ought to be thanking someone else."

"Oh?" Lexa raised an eyebrow.

"It was all Clarke," Abby explained. "It's not every day that my daughter marches into a board meeting and demands something. The board has learned to not say no to her when she does. But you are right, we Griffins have always supported our law enforcement, and that's not going to change anytime soon."

Lexa gave her a polite smile and muttered a quick thanks again before spinning her heels around in search for Costia. It didn't take the brunette long to locate her fiancée. Costia was talking to someone, which no longer surprised Lexa. What did surprise her, however, was who she was talking to. It was Clarke Griffin herself. Blinking away her surprise, Lexa made her way to the pair.

"-and when Pike came to the office next morning, he just lost it!"

"I see you've met," said Lexa.

"Lexa!" Costia beamed, "I was just telling Clarke about that time everyone in the office pranked Pike."

"That was a good one," Lexa smiled at Costia before turning to Clarke.

"I hear that I have you to thank for the donation."

"Keep doing your job, and we can call it even," Clarke waved her off. She wore a strapless dark blue dress that ended just above her ankle, showing off an ample amount of good earth cleavage and paired with matching blue silk gloves covering almost all of her arms. Lexa thought that the color really brought out Clarke's eyes. It was a flowy dress made from a soft material that was shining under the lighting, and Lexa briefly wondered what the texture would feel like between her fingers. The dress was stunning, so was Clarke.

"So how are you finding the ball?" The blonde asked.

"It's actually not as awful as I imagined," came Lexa's reply, "Kane certainly put up one hell of a show for the press."

"Nobody was certainly expecting it," Clarke nodded. "Then again, that man has been in a war zone for ten years. He's cleaned up bigger messes than a North American city with a population of eight million."

"Which is by far the largest city in New England," Costia replied with clear agitation in her voice. "We don't have the Army maintaining security on the streets, and Kane has to actually govern this time instead of simply mediating."

"He didn't have Wanheda before," Clarke countered, "he does now."

"Look, I'm probably Wanheda's biggest supporter in the DA's office, but at the end of the day, she is only one woman. Nia can essentially mobilize unlimited resources in Polis."

"And what makes you think Wanheda can't?" One of Clarke's eyebrows shot up, but not in a challenging manner. In fact, the Griffin woman channeled so much confidence in her voice that it puzzled Lexa.

Shaking her head, Lexa decided it was enough talk about vigilantes for one night.

"Does anyone want a cocktail? I heard they are serving margarita tonight," Lexa intervened timely, and smartly as it turned out, because Clarke's face brightened like it was Christmas.

"Oh yes," she exclaimed so happily and huskily that it almost came out as a moan. In the corner of her eyes, Lexa saw Costia stifling a laughter at the eagerness in Clarke's voice, "God knows I need a little liquor if I'm gonna survive this thing."

Finding a grin stretching across her face, Lexa made a quick trip to the bar and returned with a glass of margarita in each hand.

By the time Lexa returned, Clarke's expression had changed. The light-heartedness in her eyes had vanished, and there was a deep scowl on her face that would have impressed Anya. The blonde woman scrunched her nose distastefully, while something akin to dismay flashed in Costia's eyes. Lexa turned around, only to find Cage Wallace approaching them with his usual smug smirk that most people in Polis would love to wipe off with a mean hook.

"I have to deal with this," Clarke led out what could only be described as a growl before returning her attention to Lexa and Costia. "Why don't you guys go dance? There's no need for Cage Wallace to ruin your night as well."

"That was interesting," Costia remarked as Clarke strode to Cage with a combination of annoyance and determination. "Do you trust her?"

"I do," Lexa nodded, "there aren't a lot of good people in Polis, so when you spot one, they stand out."

"I like her," Costia's eyes were fixed on Clarke, "I can tell that she's compassionate, but I do hope she knows what she's doing. I hope Kane knows what he's doing as well."

"Let's dance," Lexa offered Costia a hand, and her fiancée took it gladly. They walked to the dance floor, fingers intertwined, their figures pressed against each other as they moved gracefully. They spun effortlessly, their bodies twirling across the crammed floor, with Costia's hand cupping the back of Lexa's neck and Lexa's hand resting on Costia's waist. They danced, they talked, they laughed, like they had so many times before. It was natural to them.

A few serene songs later, Lexa noticed Clarke sitting by the makeshift bar across them, sipping on a glass of colorless liquid that the brunette wasn't naïve enough to take for water. Although the blonde was too far away for Lexa to get a clear look at her face, Lexa could tell from her rigid body language that whatever transpired between her and Cage must have put the blonde in a foul mood.

"Wanna take a break?" Lexa suggested, tugging at Costia and tilting her head behind her, where Clarke was sitting.

"Sure," Costia replied, and the couple made their way off the dance floor, their hands still joint and they approached a sulking Clarke.

"I take it didn't go well?"

"What gave that away?"

"Not a fan of Cage?"

Clarke snorted, "If I ever find one, you'll be the first to know."

"What did he say?" Costia asked.

"You don't want to know," Clarke had a dark look on her face, and so Costia dropped it.

"Whiskey, neat," Lexa told the bartender, who returned momentarily with her order.

"Sometimes I have trouble believing how an asshole like Cage can be related to someone as kind as Dante," Clarke sighed, "If only I could punch that stupid smirk off his face."

"I heard you guys are friends?" Lexa asked out of curiosity, "You and Dante?"

"I'd say Dante is my mentor, in a weird way," Clarke replied. "My dad was always my biggest fan. After he died, I went to boarding school, and I just stopped painting. I couldn't bring myself to continue, not with him gone. Dante was the first person who appreciated my art the way my dad did. He told me that I would be honoring my dad because he would want me to succeed as an artist. I don't know where I would be without him."

"He sounds like a great man," Lexa commented.

"He is," Clarke nodded, "I wouldn't mind these events so much if there were more people like him."

"You too, huh?" Costia chuckled, "I had to physically drag Lexa here."

"I hate social gatherings," Lexa supplied, "especially when everything is so fake."

"So do I," Said Clarke, before a grin stretched across her face, "Why don't we get out of here? We can go to my place and have a party of our own, just the three of us."

"Sounds like a plan," Clarke's expression was mirrored on Costia's face.

"Wait for me a bit up front," said Clarke, "I just need to talk to Octavia about something."

* * *

The gallery was empty when they arrived. Clarke explained that she had closed down the exhibition for the evening while she was at Mayor's Ball as her sports sedan pulled up in front of the penthouse. The blonde led them up the stairs to her attic, while Costia drank in the sight of Clarke's artworks in front of her with wide eyes.

"They are marvelous," Costia breathed.

Clarke thanked her with a smile.

"Have you always wanted to be an artist?" Costia asked.

"I guess," Clarke smiled, a nostalgic look in her eyes. "Growing up, I always loved painting, and it was my dream to have my own gallery one day. But my mom was a doctor and she wanted me to follow her footsteps into medicine. I loved helping people, so a career as a doctor was always on the table. After I came back to Polis, I realized that I could do whatever I wanted, and I wanted this, so here we are."

"What about the company?"

"The family business was never my thing," Clarke replied, "my mom wants me to take it over one day, of course, but I figure when the time comes I'll just leave it to people who's heads are in the business."

"You already have wealth, power, and fame," Costia observed Clarke with interest in her eyes, "you might be the only person in Polis' upper class who's not after any of them. What is it that you want, Clarke Griffin?"

"I just want to be happy, I guess," Clarke shrugged.

"Are you happy now?"

"I will be," There was steel in Clarke's voice, "when we beat Nia. I'll get us some drinks."

"I'll help," said Lexa suddenly, following Clarke into the kitchen.

The blonde shot her an expectant look as she opened the cupboard and took out a bottle of red wine that Lexa thought she probably couldn't afford even with a full year of her salary.

"I want to commission a paint," Lexa whispered so that her fiancé wouldn't hear her, "Costia's birthday is in a few weeks, and I know she's fascinated by your work."

"That's a great idea," Clarke smiled. "Consider it done."

"Thank you," The brunette returned her smile.

"She's lucky to have you," Clarke remarked, turning and picking up three glasses.

"No," Lexa shook her head, a soft expression crossed her face as she looked at Costia, "I'm the one who's lucky to have her."

"Why is that?" Clarke asked, and Lexa was too caught up in looking at her fiancée that she missed how flat the blonde's tone had become.

"After my parents died, I was devastated," Lexa explained. "For a while, I was consumed by anger. Finding Nia and avenging my parent was all I thought about every waking moment. Revenge drove me, and I became dark, bitter. Treated people around me in a way that I'm not proud of. She found me at my worst and helped me get back on my feet. Even now, when the job becomes too much, she's always there to remind me what I'm fighting for. She's my anchor. Without her, I would be lost."

Clarke nodded.

"What about you?" Lexa turned to the blonde. "Got anyone special?"

Clarke shook her head.

"Really?" Lexa arched an eyebrow, "people must throw themselves at you."

"I jus-" Clarke shook her head again, her voice was strained, and Lexa could see pain surfacing in her eyes for a brief moment. "No. Not since a long time ago."

"Alright," Lexa, having sensed that Clarke was not ready to open up to her, chose to flash her a smile with a nod.

"What kind of painting do you want?" Clarke asked with a steady, cool voice and a neutral expression. It reminded Lexa of how Clarke was when she greeted Cage, "For Costia?"

"I know you don't do portraits, but I was hoping that you could paint the two of us together."

"Anything for my friends," Clarke smiled, it didn't reach her eyes. The blonde waved the bottle of wine she was holding, "shall we?"

* * *

They drank, they laughed, they talked. At some point, Clarke learned that Lexa's parents used to bring her camping as a way to "embrace the nature" in the forest just north of Polis once every two weeks; Costia still had scars from all the fights she got into to protect younger kids in the orphanage; and they met at work during what Lexa has dubbed the dark days.

In return, Clarke told them about meeting the Blakes at boarding school; how she and Raven became fast friends after a game of beer pong at a frat party that either of them was too stubborn to back down from; and how she and Maya hit it off instantly because of their mutual desire to use their families' considerable prestige to help the underprivileged.

Alas, they had work tomorrow, so Lexa and Costia bid their goodbye and left the gallery. But Clarke's night was far from over. She made her way to the Ark after receiving a text from Octavia, still reasonably sober from the incredible alcohol tolerance she developed from her wild college years.

"Please tell me you have good news," said the blonde as the elevator slid open.

"Well, you were right," Octavia responded, "Abby was not keen to share. Lucky for us, I'm a terrific actor and I told her if she didn't tell me what that ship was carrying, I would come back with a warrant, SWAT trucks and a lot of bad press. She didn't believe my bullshit, of course, so I told her I would leak the story to Jasper at Daily Polis. It would be a PR nightmare if the media started speculating that GE was engaged in illegal activities, so Abby caved."

"And?"

"Apparently, after Congress banned torture, the CIA started looking for new interrogation techniques, and they came up with the idea of a truth serum."

"A truth serum?" Clarke repeated, disbelief evident in her voice. "Like Veritaserum?"

"It involves some very complicated biochemistry and no wandwork," Octavia rolled her eyes at her friend, "but yes, except it's much more powerful, practically impossible to resist. It puts the recipient in a euphoric state, where their mind completely loses its desire to resist interrogation."

"If Nia has it then she could acquire some very sensitive information," Monty said, his voice grave, "she could destroy her opponents, blackmail government officials or make billions of dollars in financial markets. She would be unstoppable."

"Is there an antidote?" Clarke asked.

"Wouldn't be failproof if there was," Octavia shook her head, "it could take up to 36 hours for the effect to wear off completely."

"Can we develop one then?" Clarke turned to Raven.

"The supercomputer is analyzing the substance as we speak," Raven replied, "it's only chemistry, every reaction can be reversed. But there's more. I've analyzed the chemical you retrieved from the truck, and it turns out to a psycho-nerve agent, designed to make people volatile and act on their very primordial impulses by blocking certain signals in the human brain. The chemical itself, however, is highly unstable and only lasts a few minutes, but that's where the good news ends. The timing of the two incidents was too close to be a coincidence, so I combined the molecular structures of the two compounds, and I found something else entirely."

The Latina tapped a few keys, and a large diagram of the strangest shape of molecule Clarke had ever seen flashed on the screen.

"When you combine the chemicals, they stabilize, and a chemical bond that is virtually unbreakable is formed. The addition of the GE chemical to the psycho-nerve agent multiplies its effect exponentially, so much that whoever is injected doesn't just becomes agitated, they become violent to the point of crazy," Raven continued. "What I'm saying is, the effect on the brain chemistry appears to be permanent. Once injected, there is no return."

"But there has to be a way to reverse the effect, right? You said it yourself, it's only chemistry."

"Not this time," Raven shook her head, "the molecules latch onto the cerebrum. Even if we find a way to remove it, there would be permanent damage done to the brain. Lucky for us, this model is only theoretically possible. Not even GE has the technology to synthesize it, and even if someone does find a way to produce it, given the volatile nature of the chemicals themselves, they won't be able to do it with technology that's even state of the art. They are going to need technology that's literally the art. Even then, it's doubtful if they can produce enough quantity without burning through the entire pile taken from the GE vessel."

"I got news about the merc too," the Latina continued, "I traced a rifle part to a firm called Cerberus Inc., and guess who owns it? Dr. Lorelei Tsing, a member of the Mt. Weather Corp executive board, and a close ally of Cage Wallace. We still can't tie this to Cage since, you know, we got the evidence illegally."

"What about Mt. Weather?" Clarke hummed thoughtfully, "Does Mt. Weather have the technology to synthesize the chemical compounds?"

"Maybe?" Raven shrugged, "the psycho-nerve agent is completely untraceable, but I can confirm that it's not made by Griffin Chemicals, which Mt. Weather as the only company with the technology to create a compound that complex. Anyhow, we have to assume that they can do it just to be safe."

"Sounds like as good a time as any to cash in that favor Kane owes me."

* * *

 _Next time on The Ice Queen_

 _"Clarke!" Monty's voice was urgent, "someone's in the elevator. Hide!"_

 _Clarke quickly darted to the other end of the corridor, where she turned and took cover behind the wall just as the elevator opened again. Tsing stopped out of the lift with two guards in_ tail _._

 _"It's Tsing," Clarke whispered. "What's she doing here? She's supposed to be in the meeting."_


	5. Escalation

**Chapter Five: Escalation**

Clarke, dressed in her black armor, her identity concealed by the mask, observed the skyscraper in front of her carefully. Mt. Weather Corp was one of the tallest buildings in Polis, second only to the Griffin Tower, with security as tight as a military base. Which was why, for Clarke's plan to infiltrate Mt. Weather to work, she needed a distraction, something to keep the guards busy with.

Or someone.

Hidden in shadows provided by the moonless night, Clarke watched as Dante, flanked by Cage and Tsing, stepped outside the building. Kane and Sinclair, along with several aides, approached the trio and quickly exchanged pleasantries.

"Welcome to Mt. Weather," Dante's voice came in through the audio feed.

"Lieutenant Carl Emerson, head of security," a bulky man dressed in a white button-down and a pair of brown tactical pants, with a baseball cap and a chest vest in matching color stood next to Cage and shook hands with Kane, "I will be personally leading a team of my best men to accompany you for the duration of your visit. I have set up a perimeter around the building and posted additional guards as well."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Emerson. I'm glad to hear that we are in good hands," came Kane's muffled reply. Clarke subtly shifted closer to the group to get a better reception.

"You wanted to discuss the construction of the air base?" Dante asked.

"I did," Kane nodded. "As you are aware, the air base contract brought the city millions of dollars in revenue. It is particularly important since the presence of troops will no doubt deter the Azgeda and make everyone feel much safer. We want to make sure everything is going according to the plan after the recent incident."

"You have no need to worry," Dante replied. "We are confident that the construction will be completed on time. But I understand its importance to City Hall, and I'll let Cage answer further questions since he is overseeing the project."

"I have instructed Lieutenant Emerson to double the detail at the construction site after the incident," Cage answered with a toothy smirk, "additional security measures have been introduced as well. I guarantee you not even a fly will be able to get into the construction site without authorization."

"We are also concerned about the rumors that the gangsters involved in the incident were hired by Mt. Weather as contractors."

"That is nothing but tabloid gossip," Cage laughed with questionable genuineness, "Mt. Weather is a company that treats our responsibility to this city very seriously. All our employees are vetted carefully to make sure we are not offering jobs to criminals."

Clarke's feed was cut off as the group entered the building.

"They are inside the building," Clarke whispered.

"Copy that," came Monty's reply, "monitoring the camera feed now."

"They've entered the elevator," Monty updated after a few seconds of silence. "Approximately two minutes until they reach the meeting room."

"They've reached the destination."

"Ready to move," Clarke replied.

"Remember, Mt. Weather's R&D facility is underground, accessible only via the elevator," said Monty, "Maya's inside man will be waiting for you in the main elevator. I can only kill the power on the ground floor for ten seconds before the backup generator kicks in, so you'll have to cross the lobby and be inside the elevator by then."

"Acknowledged," Clarke nodded to herself.

"Lights out in three, two, one."

The lights inside the building went off, and Clarke burst out of her hiding place without delay, sprinting into the door and whizzing past the now-disabled security checks before the guards could comprehend what was happening. The darkness and her rapid movements offered Clarke the perfect cover from the eyes of surprised Mt. Weather employees as the masked vigilante dashed across the lobby in record time. The elevator opened with a quiet sound and Clarke darted inside just as the lights were back on.

"I'm in the elevator now," Clarke gasped, gulping in a large amount of oxygen as she caught her breathe.

"You know, when Maya told me a friend of hers needed my help, I didn't think it would be our resident superhero," a voice came from behind Clarke. The masked vigilante turned sharply, only to find a man in Mt. Weather security uniform leaning on the wall of the elevator. He looked roughly around Clarke's own age, maybe even a year or two younger than her. He was of average height, with short, curly black hair and a pale complexion, though he wasn't clad in a baseball cap like every other guard. Blue orbs regarded Clarke with curiosity as he spoke. A pistol was strapped to his right thigh, though the man didn't look like he was going to use it, "Sergeant Nick Lee, Mt. Weather Security Detail."

"Wanheda," Clarke nodded at him.

"The camera has been looped, I presume," Lee tilted his head.

"That's correct," Monty's voice came through the comm.

Clarke gave him another nod.

Lee unclipped his security pass from his vest and tapped the scanner. The light beamed green, and Lee pressed the bottom button in the lift.

"It's quite the feat," said Lee, "hacking into Mt. Weather security system, attacking when most of the guards are drawn away by the Mayor's visit. You must have some powerful friends."

"Tell him I said thanks," Monty quipped.

"You wouldn't believe me," Clarke replied curtly.

The elevator came to a stop with a ding.

"This is as far as I go," Lee told Wanheda. "The basement is the most heavily guarded part of the building. A pair of guards patrol the corridors every five minutes; dozens more will arrive within the minute after the alarm is triggered, so you'll have to be quick and stealthy. I assume your friends took care of the cameras in the hallway as well?"

"I'm wounded you even have to ask," said Monty.

"They won't be a problem," Clarke replied.

"Turn left and walk to the end of the corridor," Lee nodded, "you will find a set of double doors with the label Project Cerberus on the wall. Whatever is behind those doors is above my security clearance, but if you are going to find anything shady, it will be there. This elevator is the only way in or out. You have a few minutes at most before they know you are here, so you'll have to get creative about your exit."

"Thank you for your help," said Clarke.

"Thank you for what you are doing for Polis," Lee replied, "Dante is like a father to me, and I don't know what Cage is up to, but I won't let his agenda ruin Mt. Weather."

Clarke nodded, and the door slid open.

"Good luck."

The elevator close behind Clarke and the masked vigilante quickly scanned around her. No one appeared to be in the corridor, much to her relief. She followed Lee's instruction, walked to the end of the hallway, her back pressed to the wall. Clarke tapped her helmet, the X-ray vision allowing her to see through the wall where a single guard was posted at the end of the long, narrow corridor with dim lighting. It felt awfully like a horror film.

"Clarke!" Monty's voice was urgent, "someone's in the elevator. Hide!"

Clarke quickly darted to the other end of the corridor, where she turned and took cover behind the wall just as the elevator opened again. Tsing stopped out of the lift with two guards in tail.

"It's Tsing," Clarke whispered. "What is she doing here? She's supposed to be in the meeting."

"Well, she must have left!"

Clarke followed the trio, her boots making contact with the solid floor without a sound as they rounded the corner. The masked vigilante activated X-ray vision again, watching as Tsing approached the double door.

"More guards are approaching," Monty warned.

"I'm going in," Clarke whispered. She crouched down, removing her pistol from its holster and loaded the weapon with tranquilizing rounds. The masked vigilante turned around the corner, bolting down the corridor and raising the gun at the same time.

She took aim, sprinting and shooting simultaneously had become natural to her after years of training. Two tranquilizer darts burst from the muzzle and struck the guards in the back of their neck with dead accuracy. They collapsed not a second later. Tsing turned around, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of Wanheda, clad in dark armor and charging at her with a gun raised. The third guard was quick to raise his submachine gun, but Wanheda was quicker. Clarke fired again, and a tranquilizer dart hit the guard in the arm before he could pull the trigger. The guard fell instantly.

"Please don't kill me," Tsing pleaded with fear in her eyes as she raised her hands in surrender. Clarke shot her without delay.

"The door is locked," said Clarke.

"Let me look at what we are dealing with," Raven chimed in.

Clarke tapped the side of her helmet again, this time patching her helmet's visual to the supercomputer.

"Looks like a biometric lock," Raven muttered. "Yes, definitely a biometric lock, with a six-digit combination."

"Can you open it?" Clarke questioned.

"That's the whole point of a biometric lock," Raven replied. "It's impossible to hack. You need to get someone with security clearance to open it."

Clarke stepped back, picking up Tsing's unconscious body and placing her against the wall. The masked vigilante took one of Tsing's hands and pressed it against the biometric scanner. It flashed green after a few seconds.

"What now?"

"Hold on just a sec," Monty said, followed by a few seconds of rapid tapping. "Got it. The combination is 6-7-1-9-4-0."

"Copy that," Clarke replied, punching the code in the keypad. It flashed green again, this time followed by a click as the double door swung open mechanically.

"Moving in now."

Clarke stepped into the chamber cautiously. The space in front of her expanded so far that she could not see the end with her eyes. There were people all around her, separated by one-way mirrors and thick white concrete walls. They were strapped onto beds, screaming and struggling against their leather restraints desperately but futilely. Doctors wrapped in white lab coats and clinical masks surrounded their subjects, some holding syringes filled with muddy liquids while others scribed on their notebooks furiously. The eerie scene unfolding in front of Clarke reminded her of illegal human experiments depicted by movies so much that the blonde felt bile rising in her throat.

Clarke didn't know what Project Cerberus was doing to those people, but she had an unpleasant feeling that she was about to find out one way or another.

Deafening alarms blasted through the basement without warning. The entire room seemed to be flashing a glaring red as loud shouts of guards barking intruder filled Clarke's eardrums, followed by the sound of guns clicking and the heavy footsteps of guards approaching. Doctors looked alarmed for a second, before returning to their screaming subjects as if they hadn't noticed Wanheda's presence.

"What's happening?" Clarke demanded.

"They know you are here," came Monty's dire reply, "and they are routing me from the system. I'm losing the cam-"

"Monty?" Clarke called, but the other end of the line was dead.

"It's Wanheda!" Someone cried.

Clarke dove for cover just in time as a volley of bullets whizzed past her. More loud shouts came, and suddenly flashes of guns firing were everywhere. Clarke pressed herself tightly against a wall as bullets flew past her, missing their mark by inches only.

More shots came from Clarke's right, and it only took a quick X-ray scan for the masked vigilante to reach the conclusion that a team of guards was trying to flank her. Clarke took off from the safety of her cover and ran across the exposed opening, leaving a rain of bullets behind her as she threw herself in air, slamming into a guard just as he emerged. The guard's body served cushioned Clarke's fall as he crashed into the ground. Taking advantage of the guards' surprise, Clarke swung up an elbow and jammed it into the back another guard's kneecap, earning a pained yelp from the man as he fell into the guard next to her.

Clarke jumped up, her left hand connecting with a guard's head and shoving it into a wall, before grabbing the front of his vest with her spare hand and jerking the guard's limp body back in front of her as the remaining guards fired. The guards stopped shooting once they realized that the bullets were hitting one of their own, and Clarke dropped the guard she was holding and brought up a fist, knocking a guard out of action before kicking another in the gut.

"Monty?" Clarke tried again, only to be met with static noises.

The masked vigilante picked up a discarded submachine gun, pressed her back against the wall as she poked the gun into the opening and fired aimlessly. Dozens of bullets were returned in retaliation, forcing Clarke to withdraw her outstretched arm. A few guards were closing in on her. Clarke smashed a guard's head against the wall just as he rounded the corner. She dispatched two more guards in quick succession before removing a pair of smoke grenades from her utility belt and hurling it at the general direction of where they had come from. The metallic sound of submachine guns clattering onto the floor and guards choking and coughing as red smoke rose from where the grenade had landed and traveled through air rapidly like a wildfire, leaving a pile of unconscious guards in its wake.

Deciding that she was thankful for laughing gas for Thanksgiving this year, Clarke sprinted to the door before the guards could recover. She grabbed a sticky bomb this time and pressed it onto the door, before delving away just in time for a ball of fire to blast the door open.

A dozen more guards were waiting on the other side of the door, but they were all stunned by the explosion, giving Clarke a narrow window of opportunity to toss a flashbang into the air. A blinding flash of light tore through the corridor, incapacitating the guards temporarily while Clarke made her move, kneeing one guard in the gut and backhanding another.

"Monty?" This time, Clarke was answered with Monty's relieved voice.

"Clarke! Thank God, they must have jammed the signal."

Clarke dispatched two more guards with a punch and a kick.

"I need an escape route."

"The elevator has been disabled," Monty replied, "they've locked down the whole building."

Another guard dropped with a head-butt.

"There must be another way!"

"Hang on," Monty said, followed by the sound of papers shuffling and a guard being thrown across the hall by Clarke's spare hand. "Got it. There is an old mining tunnel underneath Mt. Weather. They sealed it off after an accident years ago. You should be able to access it at the bottom of the elevator well."

"See you at the Ark."

* * *

WANHEDA ATTACKS MT. WEATHER DURING MAYOR'S VIST, WRECKS HAVOC

It was the headline of Daily Polis the morning after Wanheda's little excursion into Mt. Weather that left dozens of guards injured. Fortunately, no one was killed.

Lexa frowned as she finished the article, setting the newspaper aside absently. By the time she met up with her team, the conference room was already buzzing with conversations.

"I'm telling you, Cage Wallace is dirty. Wanheda must have found something!" Gustus could be heard exclaiming loudly, while Indra predictably rolled her eyes at her partner and grumbled something under her breath.

"And who gave her the authority to barge into a building and start shooting people? Oh, no one!" Anya countered.

"Wanheda wouldn't have done it if she didn't have a good reason, she's too smart to be that reckless," Octavia intervened, "Linc, back me up here. You were undercover at Mt. Weather for two years, tell her there's something shady going on."

"Umm, sure," Lincoln gave Octavia a funny look before turning to Anya. "There was definitely something shady going on."

"Thank you!" Octavia exhaled dramatically.

"But did you find any proof?" Anya didn't look impressed.

"Well, no but-"

"Exactly," Anya had a smug look on her face.

"It's only a matter of time and you know it," Octavia said pointedly, while Lincoln quietly snuck away to talk about safer topics with Echo, like football.

"Alright team," Lexa walked into the conference room and interrupted the pair before their argument went any further, "Unity Day is only a week away, let's do a rundown of the security protocol at the parade. When is the Mayor giving his speech?"

"At the start of the parade, as usual," Quint answered, "which would be around ten."

"Correct," Lexa nodded, "and who will be handling security up close?"

"That would be us," said Lincoln, "and you are going to be on stage with Sinclair, Pike, Miller and Vie next to the Mayor."

"How many people are we anticipating?"

"North of two thousand, maybe as many as five," said Indra curtly.

"And who's in charge of crowd control?"

"Sergeant Scott from SWAT team four is running point on the ground," Tristan picked it up, "along with five hundred other uniforms."

Lexa nodded, "who's clearing the buildings around city square?"

"SWAT teams one, two and five," It was Tristan this time. "Team three will set up snipers at a number of vantage points."

"Are we expecting any trouble?"

"Hard to say," Echo replied, "Counterterror hasn't picked up any chatter on the usual channels, and Nia has been uncharacteristically quiet lately, so there is a good chance that she is planning something for Unity Day."

"And what's the protocol if there is an attack?"

"The uniforms will work on the crowd, SWATs will locate and neutralize the assailants and we will get the Mayor to a secure location either in one of the SWAT trucks or a chopper," answered Octavia smoothly.

"Good," Lexa nodded, "now go to the gun range, hit the gym, run an obstacle course, go through usual suspects, I don't care, just do something productive. Indra, Gustus, pull up every file we have on Wanheda, I want us to be ready the next time we run into her. Octavia, stay for a minute."

The brunette gave her a curious look, "sure, boss. Is there something you need?"

"I heard you and Anya talking earlier," Lexa remarked in an overly neutral tone that gave no hint of what was going through her mind. "You sounded very certain about Wanheda."

"Eight out of ten cops think Cage Wallace is dirty, the other two are morons," Octavia shrugged nonchalantly, "Wanheda is known for having a shrewd plan and flawless execution. She wouldn't risk open war with Mt. Weather if she didn't have something solid."

"I doubt Wanheda respects due process as much as we do," Lexa spilled out more sarcasm than she meant to, but Octavia didn't seem to take notice.

"My point still stands, Wanheda wants the public trust her," Octavia insisted. "It's not worth the backlash for a crap shot."

"How do you know that?" Lexa eyed the other brunette curiously.

"It's straight out of every superhero's playbook," Octavia sounded so convinced that Lexa briefly wondered whether or not she was a member of Wanheda's fan club. "Beat the crap out of a villain, turn public opinion in your favor and get the local establishment to work with you."

Executing thugs in the back of an alley does sound like truth, justice, and the American way, Lexa thought drily, but before she could vocalize that thought, a loud alarm blasted through the station.

* * *

Being exhausted isn't just a physical state for a cop, especially in Polis. After a while, being exhausted becomes your new constant, so much that it's ingrained into your personality. But lately, it seemed like the job just kept getting harder and harder, until Lexa felt every ounce of energy was sucked out of her by a vacuum, leaving her drained both physically and emotionally.

That was exactly how Lexa felt as she slid onto a chair at the conference room at city hall. A patrol unit had reported that they were engaged in a firefight with the Azgeda during a routine inspection at one of the warehouses on Polis Port. By the time Lexa's team got there, all that was left was two cruisers, smashed and burning with a repulsively heavy scent of gasoline in the air. Four cops were found, with half a dozen bullet holes in their chest.

Lexa's day would have been horrendous enough if it ended there. It was always tough seeing fellow cops falling in the line of duty, more so for Lexa as she was the one who got the call, she was the one who threw on a vest and charged into the warehouse, only to find corpses and bloodied uniforms. Once again, Lexa found herself haunted by the thoughts of people she couldn't save. Blood, death, failure, those had long become norms in Lexa's life. If the Army taught her anything, it was that the guilt never fades, it's always there, in the back of her mind, gnawing her away until she cracks and drowns herself in cheap liquor and one night stands. Eventually, she learned to cope with it, to not let it consume her.

What did have enough weight to crush her, to swallow her whole with fear until she was curled in a ball, shaking and crying like a terrified five-year-old, was the writings on the wall. Bold, capital letters in scarlet red, too dark to be the shade of rose, but not quite dark enough to be wine. It was a hit list painted in the blood of the ice queen's victims, and one of them was already crossed off.

Lexa remembered the fear that struck her, freezing her in the warehouse. Lexa remembered panic rising in her chest as a wave of nausea washed over her. Lexa remembered how frantic her movements were as she barked orders at her team, and sprinted back to the SUVs, praying to the God who she had long stopped believing in. Lexa remembered the relief she felt as she all but dragged Sinclair from his town hall. And above all else, Lexa remembered how short-lived that relief was, and how a gust of wind tore through the air as a bullet flashed before Lexa's eyes and punched through Sinclair's throat. When she saw life slowly leaving his eyes, the only thing Lexa could think about was how strange the sound of a man choking on his own blood was.

On September 25, 2016, Polis city councilman Jacapo Sinclair, engineer-turned-politician, was gunned down ten feet outside the police station, the assailant still at large. A piece of Halfeti rose, black as midnight, was found in his apartment, Nia's symbol that was first used after a bomb killed Diana Sydney, marking the ice queen's victims. Along with it was a note.

I'm coming for you. - N

With a heavy heart, Lexa sighed as Pike entered the conference room, trailed closely by Kane and Jaha, both looking grimmer than she had ever seen them. A second later, a loud thud came from the terrace, prompting the occupants to turn their heads to the source of the sound. When Lexa realized who it was, she leaped from her chair in an instant, her gun up and her cross locked on the intruder.

"Stand down!" Kane's sharp voice boomed from behind Lexa.

"Sir-"

Kane cut Lexa off before the word fully left her mouth, "Wanheda is here at my request."

Lexa's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, and judging by the others' expressions, she could tell that she was not alone, "you asked her to be here?"

"I did," Kane confirmed, "and I think our guest would appreciate it if you stopped pointing your gun at her, Commander."

Begrudgingly, Lexa re-holstered her gun and lowered herself back onto her chair, never taking her eyes off Wanheda while the masked vigilante nodded at Kane curtly and stepped into the conference room, her posture rigid.

"We all know why we are here," Kane resumed, "Nia has painted a target sign on all of us in this room. On Unity Day ten years ago, Nia bombed City Square and killed Diana Sydney. A psychopath of her caliber never passes the chance to mark an anniversary like this with another mass murder, which is why we are going to work with Wanheda."

"She's a vigilante!" Lexa exclaimed incredulously, suddenly overcome with the urge to grab a hammer and see if she can knock some sense into Kane's skull.

"Who we should be glad is on our side," Kane shot back without blinking, his tone was firm and warning, "I have no plan of dying next week, and unless you've got a better idea, she's our best chance."

In the corner of her vision, Lexa saw Wanheda's mouth twitching just the slightest.

"Regardless, Mister Mayor," Miller cut in, "Nia blindsides us. She made her moves right under nose and Sinclair paid the price. I think the best thing to do is to cancel the parade and place everyone whose name was on the list under protective custody until the threat is neutralized."

"No," Kane's voice was steady and left no room for argument. "If we do that, people will panic, and we play right into Nia's hands. She wants us to be afraid; we have to stay calm for our people."

"Sir, with all due respect if you go to the parade then we can't guarantee your safety. There is no way for us to clear everyone at the venue."

"Then find a way, because I'm not hiding. Charles, can your sources tell us anything?"

"I'm afraid not. Our informants inside the Azgeda are all low-level thugs, none of them can get close enough to Nia to find out what she's planning."

"If I may, Mister Mayor," Wanheda spoke for the first time, "Nia is extremely careful and cunning, and I agree with the Commissioner that it would be impossible for us to protect you at the parade."

"What are you proposing then?"

"Nia plans to kill us on Unity Day, we find her and kill her before that happens."

"The PCPD has been trying to do that for ten years," Miller looked at Wanheda incredulously. "What makes you think you can do it in a week?"

"Simple," replied Wanheda confidently, "as much as Nia wants to kill all of you, she wants me dead even more. If I propose a meeting, she will come under the disguise of discussing a truce. The opportunity of crossing me out before Unity Day is too tempting for her to pass."

"So what's your plan? Shoot her once you get close enough then run?"

"Not quite. Nia too smart to not know that I have as much interest in a truce as her, and she will be expecting me to try to kill her. However, we do have one advantage, that is, Nia doesn't know we are working together. Which is why I won't be the one to kill her, a sniper will," Wanheda tilted her head in Lexa's direction. "How is your aim Commander?"

"The best in the force," a cocky grin found its way on Lexa's face despite everything.

"There's our plan."

"Alright," Kane said, "we will execute Wanheda's plan. In the meantime, I want bodyguards assigned to everyone until this is sorted, no arguments." He gave a pointed look at Pike, who looked annoyed but kept his mouth shut anyway.

"One last thing," the Mayor continued, and all the sudden, the somewhat jovial atmosphere that had overtaken the room thanks to Wanheda's plan vanished, only for the graveness to return, "if something happens to me, the surviving ranking officer will find my will with my assistant."

Kane scanned across the conference room, his eyes briefly making contact with every member in attendance before nodding grimly and making his way out.

"What does the City Charter say about the line of succession?" Someone whispered.

"The Mayor is supposed to designate a councilor Mayor Pro Tempore, but that was Sinclair."

"Then who's the next in line?"

"I don't know. I think it might be the DA, then the Police Commissioner." By then Lexa had completely zoned out from the conversation around her. Pushing down the urge to empty the content of her stomach, Lexa stood abruptly and made to leave, but a deep voice stopped her.

"Commander," Lexa turned around and eyed Wanheda impassively. The masked vigilante tilted her head towards the balcony and Lexa followed her with only a modest hesitation, more curious than suspicious.

"What do you want?"

Wordlessly, Wanheda reached down and took something from her belt.

"A radio?" Lexa glanced at the item in Wanheda's extended hand warily.

"I promise it's not a bomb."

"I did shoot you."

"You are hardly the first," Wanheda waved it off nonchalantly. "Besides, you missed."

Biting back the retort on her tongue, Lexa picked up the radio and examined it. Satisfied that it had not blown her hand off, she pocketed it.

"This radio allows you to communicate with me through a secure channel," Wanheda explained. "If you need me, I will be there."

"Why are you giving this to me?" Lexa asked, visibly surprised.

"Because despite our differences, you are a good cop," Wanheda replied, "and good cops are in short supply around here."

Wanheda's words touched something inside Lexa when she opened her mouth to snap at the vigilante, but realized that she couldn't.

* * *

 _Next time on The Ice Queen_

 _"What are we supposed to do instead!" Lexa fired a few shots from behind the cover blindly._

 _"We improvise!" Clarke shouted, as the sound of bullets bursting got closer and closer. "How quickly can a SWAT team get here?"_

 _"At least fifteen minutes!"_

 _Clarke swore loudly._


	6. Force of Habit

**Chapter Six: Force of Habit**

"You know, I just ran into a couple of guys from Team Three. They looked like someone just kicked a puppy."

"Really?" Lexa raised an eyebrow, before pulling the trigger and clearing the chamber as another bullet struck bullseye.

"Keep it up and SWAT will be looking for new snipers," Anya teased, but Lexa ignored her and fired again, hitting another bullseye.

Anya sighed, folding her arms, "alright, that's enough. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," Lexa replied nonchalantly, "I'm just a little stressed about tomorrow, that's all."

"Well, you shouldn't," said Anya. "You are a good shot."

The brunette fired off two more shots in quick succession, "nothing's wrong. I guess that's the problem. The Army used me as a sniper because I was a good shot. SWAT used me as a sniper because I was a good shot. It's what I do the best, killing, I mean. Sometimes I just feel like it's the only thing I'm good for."

"That's not true. You were a good soldier and you are the best damn cop I know. Tomorrow, you are going to put a bullet in that flat football Nia calls a face and end this war once and for all. And there will be no more killing, no more innocent blood spilled. Polis will be our home again."

Lexa shook her head, "This was exactly what I wanted, revenge for my parents. I spent years imagining what it would be like, to be the one to finally kill Nia, hoping that I would find her every time I make a turn in an alley. But now, I can actually do it; I can actually kill her, all I can think about is how many lives I've taken getting here."

"What about the lives you've saved?" Anya's voice was firm and soft at once, and when Lexa looked at her, she was reminded of a time when she was the rookie and Anya was reprimanding her for charging into a firefight head first without backup while patching up her wounds. "The people you killed were killers. If you didn't kill them, then they would have."

"I-" Lexa paused, and looked at Anya silently for a moment before swallowing, "I was halfway through my tour when a patrol unit went missing during a routine security check in Anbar Province. So the next day, the company sent in a squadron of tanks to clear block and find out what happened. I was covering them on a roof a couple hundred yards out. It was pretty standard, nothing I haven't done a hundred times before. Suddenly, half a dozen men jumped out of a window with assault rifles. One of them was holding a Molotov, so I shot him. I shot all of them before the crews even realized they were ambushed. They weren't militants, I could tell from how terrified they looked. They could have been owners of a café or artisans. Hell, they could have been in college. But I had to protect the tanks, so I killed them. I didn't think too much about it. They were armed, I had to protect my guys, and I've killed enough people so that the sight of dead bodies no longer made me want to throw up. But then, a kid came out of nowhere. He was so small, so scrawny, and he ran to one of the bodies. I thought it was his dad or big brother because he was shaking the body and crying. When he realized that he wouldn't wake up, he turned around and picked up the gun. He was barely taller than the rifle, and he was struggling like his arms couldn't carry its weight. But he picked it up and came at the tanks, so I put him down. I didn't have to, but I killed him anyway."

By the time Lexa finished retelling the mission, her voice was trembling and her hands were pale and shaking, so much that she had to put her rifle down. The brunette turned away from Anya and blinked away unshed tears before they could fall.

"Yes you did," Anya's voice was quiet, with a strange tenderness that Lexa has never heard from her mentor before, so much that she had half a mind to tease her about old age softening her. "Nobody forced the boy to pick up the gun. He had a choice and he chose to do it."

"Did he really? We blew up his home; I killed his father. Did he really have a choice?"

"Do you remember how many people you've killed?"

"I remember all of them."

"And that's what makes you a good person. If you ever doubt it, just remember that if you weren't, then your heart wouldn't have the room to carry that guilt. You agonize over your actions; you keep replaying every moment and asking yourself if there was anything you could have done differently, because you care, and you treat every life like they are as important as yours. Villains don't do that, because their hearts all too filled with darkness to have room for guilt or remorse."

Lexa wondered if there is room for such things in Wanheda's heart. If she agonized over every thug she executed down in the back of an alley, or if she refused to allow herself to feel so she could do what needed to be done.

"I just wish it didn't have to be this way."

"It won't be. After we take down Nia, we'll have an opportunity to start anew. With a clean slate."

"There is no clean slate for people like us. Our past, what we've done, they define us," Lexa shook her head, resigned before a small smile broke out across her face. "But I would like to start anew. That's why after this is over, I'm going to quit."

"Why?"

"I've been a soldier all my life. If I do get a second chance, I'd like to be something else for once."

"Have you told Costia?"

"Of course not," Lexa laughed drily. "She always talks about her grand plans to rebuild Polis. That one day, she will be the DA and I will be the Commissioner. She'll be great at it, but that's not for me."

"I know you are worried about Costia because she's on Nia's list, but you won't have to once Nia is dead."

"I hope you are right."

* * *

"I was starting to worry that you weren't going to show."

"I keep my word."

"Interesting place you've chosen," Nia said, looking around them. "There used to be so many factories like this, filled with chattering workers and humming machines. But now, all that's left is dust. The industrial heartland has always been a symbol of Polis' fortune, or decay, I suppose."

"All thanks to the Ice Queen," Clarke snarled.

"You flatter me," Nia led out a maniacal laugh. "But alas, I can't take credit from the Great Recession. It's the economy, you see. When the stock market crashed, businesses started closing down factories. Tens of thousands of workers in places like this became jobless, and homeless unless they did something about it quickly. They say that the little guy is without power, but you'd surprised by the length little guy is willing to go through to avoid looking their children in the eye and telling them they'll have to go to bed hungry."

"Then you and your checkbooks came in."

"You make everything sound so transactional."

"Isn't that what it is? They take your money, and you own them."

"I saw people who were suffering," Nia waved dismissively, "so I helped them. I give them a roof over their head, put food on their table, send their kids to school, pay their insurance bills. I even freed them from the pigs that terrorized the neighborhood for years. Is that not what a benevolent queen does?"

"Is that what you call benevolent? Murdering five-year-olds at their homes?"

"You really don't understand what the problem is, do you?" Nia gazed at Wanheda with something akin to pity in her eyes. "Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a young girl. She never met her mother. People at school laughed at her, bullied her and called her ugly and crazy. The teachers always turned a blind eye because her father couldn't afford a bribery. Her father, you see, was your average blue-collar Joe. Growing up, she never had much, because her father had to pull double shifts at his factory job just to support her and her big brother, and more often than not, Joe skipped dinner so his kids didn't have to. But the girl was happy. She loved her father and brother, and they were enough for her. Life was not easy, but the girl never lost hope. She loved fairy tales, and she dreamed, that one day she would meet her prince, who would lift them out of poverty. They would have a summer wedding on a meadow, and they would be happy. But everything changed one night, when the pigs busted their little apartment open, claimed her father's lifesaving was drug money and took it, along with everything valuable they could find, and dragged him into the back of a cruiser, laughing as he pled them. He died in a holding cell. The pigs beat him up so badly that he died from internal bleeding. They didn't think to tell his children before the body was cremated, so they didn't even get to say goodbye. The girl was heartbroken, but her brother told her everything was going to be okay. Her brother was a good person, but his mistake was that he trusted people. He promised the girl he would be back and went to the DA's office. His body was fished out of a river three days later. It was the only promise he ever broke."

Something churned in Clarke's stomach.

"That girl never dreamed again," Nia finished with an overly sweat smile, "am I really the villain here?"

"Maybe once, you weren't a sociopathic bitch, but how many children will have to grow up alone in an orphanage because of you? How many already have? Who gave you the right to take everything from them because it happened to you?" Wanheda challenged.

"How dare you!" Nia snapped. "The oh mighty Wanheda, so blinded by her arrogance and self-righteousness that she doesn't see the truth. You and I, we are the same."

"I am nothing like you!" Clarke bellowed, the mask doing nothing to conceal her fury.

Nia laughed, "you are brave, I'll give you that. You are not afraid to die, in fact, I think a part of you welcomes death. You are, however, afraid that you will die before your crusade to save Polis is complete, and this city will be in my clutches. But that's not your true fear. No, because as much as you are afraid of failure, there is something else that scares you even more. Your greatest fear, is that one day, you will lose sight of your moral compass and become just like me," the Ice Queen gave Clarke a sickeningly sweat smile, "Don't worry, you already are."

"You destroyed this city! I'm trying to save it!"

"Is that what you think I'm doing? Destroying Polis?" Nia looked amused. "When I first started, I didn't see the bigger picture either. All I could think about was revenge. So I spent years perfecting my plan. I hunted down the pigs responsible for my father's death, and I didn't allow them to die until I've carved my blade into their skin a thousand times over. Then, I killed everyone at the DA's office, after that, the DA himself. But still, it wasn't enough; my vengeance wouldn't be complete until I took out the root of the problem. So on Unity Day ten years ago, I built a bomb, and I planted it right under Sydney's podium. I thought killing Sydney would bring me peace, but alas, I didn't feel joy, or satisfaction, I certainly didn't feel any of that closure I was supposed to have found. That's when I realized the truth. You are a smart woman; you must see that Polis is rotten at its core."

"I also see that there are still good people left in Polis, and as long as that's the case, Polis is worth saving."

"Oh I agree, there are always some good people, no matter the kind of filth Polis has become. Which is why, in order to save them, Polis must be cleansed. Whoever survives, would have earned their place in a new Polis, reborn from ashes like a phoenix, stronger and purer."

"You are crazy."

"That's what they always say about people who dare to speak the truth. Sydney, Cartwig, Jackson, Kane, the only talents our politicians have are corruption and bullshit. It's the law of nature. Sooner or later, it's bound to happen. All I did, is to help it along. The battle for Polis' soul began ten years ago, and it will end in five days. All those standing in my way will pay the ultimate price, but you don't have to be one of them. We both want to purge the corruption that had eroded Polis, why not be on the same side?"

"Enough of this!" Clarke thundered. "Surrender now, and I will spare your life."

"You disappoint me," Nia looked at Clarke with such profound sadness that the blonde almost cringed. "Your heart is pure, and you possess the strength of a true warrior, but you fail to see the truth. For that, I can not allow you to live."

"Now!" Clarke cried.

Clarke waited, and nothing happened.

"Did you really think that I wouldn't know that this is a trap? A warrior faces death without fear, a coward hides behind a sniper," Nia laughed coldly, "Roan, be a dear and bring out our guest, will you?"

A few moments later, a sturdy man came out of the shadows, dragging a weaponless Lexa behind him. He was massive, easily the tallest and the bulkiest man Clarke had ever seen, commanding so much confidence that he towered over Clarke. He had long, brown hair that matched the length of Clarke's, with striking blue eyes that seemed to radiate an aura of power.

"Allow me to do the introductions. This is my turf, after all. Roan, meet Wanheda, Polis' very own superhero. Wanheda, meet Roan, my son."

"Let her go," Clarke growled, "it's me you want."

"Didn't you hear a word I said? All those standing in my way will pay the ultimate price, and the Commander here, is definitely one of them," Nia sneered. "Looks like I will be crossing this one off my list early. Kill her."

Clarke let instincts take over. Years of training kicked in as she lunged at Roan, knocking the burly man off his feet with the weight of her armor. She hooked an arm around Lexa and flung both of them behind an old machine just as gunshots erupted from all around them.

"Sounds like I'm not the only one who brought back up," Clarke muttered.

"This is Woods! Breach now!" Lexa shouted into her comms.

"No!" Clarke a hand on Lexa's arm to stop the brunette. "If Nia knew you were here then she must have found your team by now. You are a cop; she expects you to call in backup. If you send them in, they'll be walking into a slaughter."

"What are we supposed to do instead!" Lexa fired a few shots from behind the cover blindly.

"We improvise!" Clarke shouted, as the sound of bullets bursting got closer and closer. "How quickly can SWAT teams get here?"

"At least fifteen minutes!"

Clarke swore loudly.

"We do what we came here to do! We kill Nia, her guards fall apart without their leader, and we shoot our way out of here!"

"In case you haven't noticed, there are at least two dozen thugs with assault rifles between Nia and us!"

"I've faced worse odds!" Clarke reached for her belt, "this is a stun grenade. Count to three, throw it, then run like hell!"

"What about you?"

"I'm going to finish the job!"

"I'm not leaving you!"

"You have to! If I can take out Nia, then it'd be worth it."

Lexa held Clarke's gaze for a long time; her orbs were two green storms, so piercing that Clarke almost shivered. There were more emotions swirling in Lexa's eyes than Clarke had ever seen, both as Clarke Griffin and Wanheda. Surprise, respect, regret, and something else. Something that Clarke couldn't quite decipher. A bullet sailed inches over Lexa's head, and the trance broke. The brunette opened her mouth, before closing it and nodding at Clarke. For the first time Clarke could remember, Lexa did as she was told, tossed the grenade overhead and made a beeline for the exit.

Not realizing the wistful smile that was dangling on her lips, Clarke tore her eyes away from Lexa's retreating figure and jumped out of the cover, raised her gun, took aim and fired. The bullet struck Nia in the chest without stray and she stumbled back, once, twice, before Roan caught her in his arms. The image stuck in Clarke's head as a sharp pain exploded in her left shoulder. She looked down, dimly registering a bullet wound before something metallic punched into her stomach, the force of the impact sending her crashing into the floor as darkness took over.

* * *

Clarke groaned loudly when pain tore through her body.

"Hey, take it easy, you got hurt pretty bad," came a soothing voice from above.

Clarke blinked, and Maya's face came into focus, "Maya? Wh- Where am I? What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"Lexa and I were supposed to ambush Nia at the factory-" Clarke frowned as she tried to recall what happened, but only came up with fragmented pieces of memory that seemed to slip away every time she came close, disjoined by prolonged periods of blankness in her consciousness, "I don't really remember what happened after that. All my thoughts are scrambled- it's like everything is in pieces, and so many things are just blank. Am I making sense?"

"It's perfectly normal, you suffered a mild concussion when you hit your head," Maya replied, "we don't know what happened, and we weren't desperate enough to ask Lexa. When Octavia brought you in, you were already unconscious. I had to pull three bullets out of you before you could be stabilized. She said she heard gunshots and an explosion before Lexa ran out of the factory and called for backup. You are lucky Octavia found you before SWAT did."

Clarke absorbed what Maya just told her as the fragments of memory floating in her head started to make sense, like a puzzle coming together. One particular image flashed before the blonde's eyes, and Clarke bolted up from the bed, only to hiss in pain as a sharp ache shot through her left shoulder.

"Wow, easy there. You took three bullets, it's a miracle you are even alive," Maya exclaimed. "Your body is going to need time to heal."

"I shot Nia," Clarke whispered, stunned as more memories returned, "I shot her. I remember watching her go down. Is she dead?"

Maya bit her lip, "Honestly? We have no idea what happened in the factory. We were actually waiting for you to wake up to tell us what went down. But if Nia is dead, then the police isn't talking about it, neither is the Azgeda."

Uneasiness rose within Clarke, "what about recent Azgeda activities? Has there been a surge in violence? Or a major incident?"

The brunette shook her head, "not that I'm aware of."

"How long have I been out?"

"Three days."

"What!" Maya had to physically restrain Clarke from jumping off the bed this time, "that means Unity Day is only two days away and we still don't know what the Azgeda is planning!"

"You can worry about Unity Day when Unity Day comes. Right now, you need to rest."

"I was out for two days," Clarke glared, "I think I've rested enough."

"You can barely lift your arm, how are you going to fight?" Maya glared back. The brunette had an uncharacteristically frightening glare, a common trait in the medical profession.

"Maya, you are one of my best friends, and I love you, but I need to do this," Clarke poured as much conviction as she could muster into her voice as she met the brunette's unswerving gaze, "I'm a warrior, this is what I was always meant to do. Protect my people, and that includes you, Kane, and every kid who will grow up in an orphanage unless I stop Nia. I can't just sit back and do nothing, that's not who I am."

"You could die. You probably will die if Nia is still alive and you go out swinging like this."

"There is no greater honor than dying for a cause you believe in," said Clarke softly.

"I'll send Raven up to brief you on what we know so far," Maya sighed reluctantly. "But you still need to rest, and I mean it. You aren't leaving this room until Unity Day."

"Got it," Clarke beamed.

Maya smiled back and quickly typed something on her phone. A few minutes later, the door to Clarke's bedroom opened, revealing a keen Raven Reyes.

"Clarkey!" The Latina cried and engulfed her friend in a careful hug, "I'm so glad you are okay."

"I'm so glad I'm okay too," Clarke grinned, "so what's up? What did I miss?"

"The police stopped a bank robbery yesterday, they don't know if it's linked to the Azgeda yet," Raven replied, "other than that, the Azgeda is doing a fine job at the clandestine business."

"Is there anything else?"

"Yes, actually," said Raven. "Your cop friend visited a couple days ago. Brunette, green eyes, cute, really nice b-"

"You can stop there," Clarke cut her off.

"I was going to say biceps," Raven muttered under her breath, earning a pointed look from Clarke.

"Alright, alright," the Latina put her hands up in mock surrender.

"What did Lexa want?"

"She just said she needed to see you. I couldn't let her in because, you know," Raven gestured at the bed-ridden blonde, "so I told her you caught a really bad flu, since we didn't know how long it was going to take for you to wake up. I offered to take a message, but she just said she can talk to you after you get better."

Clarke nodded.

"Well, don't worry too much about it, because I've got some good news as well.

"Oh?"

"Your new armor is finished," Raven grinned proudly, "it's pretty cool too, thanks to this genius who designed it. You've got thermal vision hooked to your helmet, and the X-ray comes with audio now. A laser is built into your right armguard, just tap your gauntlets to activate them. But it's still a prototype, so you only get one shot, very much lethal, along with a bunch of other features. But since it's a new suit, we better run a few tests just to make sure it's fully operational. You might need a few days to get used to fighting in it."

Maya glared at the Latina, and the brunette swallowed, "or not, I'm sure there won't be any problem. It's Raven Reyes' masterwork, after all. Here's an operational manual, make sure you read it to know all the new features- I mean, after you've gotten some rest, of course. Sleep is important, doctors orders," Raven chuckled nervously, "anyways, I'd better go. Monty needs my help with umm- files! He needs me to look at some files, very important files. Bye Clarkey!"

The Latina fled the room before the words fully left her mouth, causing Clarke to burst into laughter.

"You scared the shit out of her!"

"She's just dramatic," Maya rolled her eyes. "Try to get some sleep, passing out from three bullet wounds doesn't count. And no strenuous activities. I swear I will cuff you to the bed if you try to sneak to the Ark."

"Yes ma'am, Doctor Vie ma'am," Clarke gave her a mock salute.

"You know I actually am a doctor."

* * *

 **A/N: Next chapter will be the most consequential and most brutal, so be prepared.**

 _Next time on The Ice Queen_

 _"Well," Lexa's lips pursed into a thin line, "we haven't found any dead body in the back of an alley for almost a week, figured Nia must have done a number on you."_

 _"It takes more than a deranged psychopath to kill me."_

 _"Did it work?" Lexa asked. "Did you kill her?"_

 _"I don't know," came Wanheda's honest reply, and the silver of hope Lexa was still holding onto vanished._


	7. Parade of Death

**Chapter Seven: Parade of Death**

"I'm not doing this again."

Unity Day had arrived before Lexa was remotely ready for it. And judging by what she knew, which was a lot, given her rank, neither was the PCPD. Wanheda's plan to lure Nia into a trap under the pretense of negotiating a truce went down almost a week ago. But she had been discovered and captured by the Azgeda before she even got a clean shot on Nia. Although she was able to escape unscathed, by the time backup arrived, both Wanheda and the Azgeda had vanished, leaving behind several bodies scattered across the factory.

Somehow, Lexa had a feeling that she hadn't seen the end of either of them.

So far, Sinclair was the only victim on what had been dubbed as Nia's hit list, but Lexa suspected that statement wouldn't hold true anymore when the day was over, which led to the Commander standing in the middle of her apartment, desperately trying to convince her fiancée to not attend the parade.

"Costia, please," Lexa almost winced when she realized it was like a scene from a bad chick flick. Except Lexa wasn't a hero, and Costia wasn't some helpless damsel in distress, "it's too dangerous."

"If I was afraid of danger then I wouldn't be working for the DA," Lexa wasn't sure what had drawn her to Costia, a petite brunette unlike any prosecutor she ever met. Confident and ambitious, to a point where Lexa thought she was just another overly idealistic youth in Polis who was bound to have a major crisis of faith and lose that optimism. Twenty minutes later, she put together a case against one of Nia's lieutenants who the PCPD had been trying and failing to convict for weeks. Then, she winked at Lexa and asked her if she wanted to get lunch. Costia was impassioned, fierce and stubborn, and Lexa irrevocably fell in love with her. Six years later, Costia was still every bit of impassioned, fierce and stubborn as the day they met.

"I know that. You are the bravest person I've ever met, and I love you for that, but it's different this time," Lexa pleaded, looking into her girlfriend's eyes only to find two brown orbs simmering in rage. She took a step forward, reaching for Costia, but the brunette backed away from Lexa's touch. Swallowing hard, the Commander dropped her arm and fought back a flinch. "You know exactly what Nia is capable of. She killed Sinclair right in front of us, and we couldn't do anything about it. Every person she's after is going to be at the parade, and that includes you."

"I thought we were going to do this together. You and me, side by side, until the end, remember? That whatever obstacle Nia throws our way, we will deal with it together."

"We are always in this together," Lexa promised, "and I wouldn't have gotten this far without you, but this time, I don't know if we can stop her."

"This isn't the first time Nia has tried to kill us, and the odds have always been stacked against us," said Costia dismissively, shuffling into the kitchen, "but we've come this far, and I'm not going to just hide in my apart-"

"Because I can't protect you if you go!" Lexa blurted out. "You are not a soldier. I am. Just let me deal with this, and you'll be safe."

"Is that what this is about?" Costia dropped the jar she was holding abruptly and turned sharply so she was facing her fianceée again. Her voice was dangerously low, almost a snarl, "You needing to protect me? Well if that's what you think then you can go to hell because I'm not some helpless girl for you to save."

"Please, I can't lose you-"

"Don't you dare," Costia snapped. Her eyes were burning with fury, but Lexa knew her well enough to see the hurt beneath the surface, "Don't you dare say this isn't my fight because it sure as hell is. You are not the only one who's lost people, you are not the only one who's had your life torn apart. I still don't know what happened to my father. My mother drunk herself into a stupor every night until one day, I came home and found her on the ceiling. So if you think you can convince me to stay here, while you go put yourself in the line of fire, you are very fucking mistaken."

"Costia-"

"I'll see you at the parade," the brunette pushed past her, snatched her keys and opened the door, only to find two cops blocking her exit. A range of emotions crossed Costia's face. Anger, shock, resentment, but more than anything else, betrayal. Something inside Lexa churned painfully, so much that the almost relented and told Costia she was sorry for doubting her and they will go to the parade together. They would finally stop Nia, and they would be side by side, whispering how much they love each other. It was everything she wanted. But Lexa didn't, and Costia stormed away with nothing but a chilling glare.

If only Lexa knew what was going to happen.

* * *

"Wasn't sure you were going to show."

"You called, I came. That was the promise."

"Well," Lexa's lips pursed into a thin line, "we haven't found any dead body in the back of an alley for almost a week, figured Nia must have done a number on you."

"It takes more than a deranged psychopath to kill me."

"Did it work?" Lexa asked. "Did you kill her?"

"I don't know," came Wanheda's honest reply, and the silver of hope Lexa was still holding onto vanished.

Kane wouldn't be giving his speech for another couple of hours, so City Square was sparsely crowded minus the dozens or so cops already on scene. There was an ominous feeling in the air, the silence was heavy and uncomfortable. Lexa could see the podium perfectly from the roof she was on, and she couldn't help but let her thoughts wander. Would it explode into a ball of fire like ten years ago, when Diana Sydney stood there? Would Kane suddenly break into a coughing fit, his hands covered in blood until his eyes rolled back and his body hit the ground limply, like Callie Cartwig? Would they be lulled into a false sense of safety, until a truck comically crashes his car almost comically with Jackson in it? Or would it be a bullet from a sniper that the police didn't even know was there, like the way Sinclair was struck down while Lexa watched from less than ten feet away?

Every Mayor who defied Nia ended up dead one way or another. Would it finally be different this time? Lexa was shaken out of her thoughts when a shiver made its way through her body. It was just into Autumn in Polis, but the wind was already chilling. Strangely, the brunette recalled a time, before she joined the Army, when the sun was uncharacteristically bright and the breeze uncharacteristically pleasant for a city in New England. But that was a long time ago.

"You should go," Lexa said, looking away from Wanheda, "the PCPD can't be seen working with a vigilante, though I don't suppose there is much point in keeping it a secret anymore since Nia already knows."

Wanheda nodded before walking to the edge of the roof. She paused, and spoke without turning around, "don't lose hope, Nia isn't going to win this."

"How do you know that?"

"Because we both are too stubborn to die before Nia is six feet under."

Lexa felt a small sound leaving her mouth. Then, Wanheda was gone. Suppressing a sudden surge of envy in her chest, Lexa took the stairs.

Gustus was already waiting for her when the brunette emerged from the empty building.

"Give me an update."

"Snipers have been positioned in three apartment buildings," Gustus nodded as he pointed at the locations, "uniforms are setting up a perimeter. Miller put a chopper crew on standby less than two minutes away in case we need to evacuate Kane. We are expecting fewer people to show up after Sinclair died, but Kane's supporters are still turning out in record numbers."

"Do we have any news about what the Azgeda might be planning?" Lexa didn't need to hear Gustus' answer to know the reply.

"Indra has been talking to her friends at the federal level, but they are just as clueless as we are. We've done the best we can to check every building around City Square, but to be honest, it's impossible to monitor every window where a sniper might be."

Lexa nodded grimly.

"I think Miller is looking for you," Gustus added, "he probably wants to know what happened with Wanheda."

The brunette quickly bid Gustus goodbye and went off in search for the commissioner. Lexa found him by the podium some staffers from City Hall had just set up. Miller seemed to be observing the scene in front of him, people pouring into City Square from all over the city, greeting police officers at security checkpoints with cheeky grins, many of them donning the In Kane We Trust T-shirt from the mayoral campaign, despite the fact that Polis' Autumns were decisively less warm than California's. One could almost convince themselves that Polis was just like any other city in North America without a psychopath and her gangster army on the loose if they ignored smaller details. Like the rigidity of their body languages, the subtlety of their eyes scanning the crowd, or the hundreds of armed police holding automatic weapons, ready to use them at a moment's notice.

If Miller noticed Lexa approaching, he didn't show any indication of it until the brunette was right next to him.

"Walk with me," the Commissioner turned away without looking at Lexa, though the brunette was quick to catch up and fall in steps next to him.

"What's your take on the situation?"

"We've done everything we can on our end," the brunette answered honestly. "Without more intel, we can only wait and hope for the best."

Miller nodded, "sometimes, we have to accept that things are out of our control. Do you remember what it was like before Nia?"

"Yes, sir."

"When I joined the force, it was even before that. I was a patrol officer, and the streets were brutal. Every day was an open war between the gangs. The whole damn city was a war zone. Gang versus gang, black folks against white cops. Neighbors I grew up with called me a traitor because I became a cop. My cruiser got hit with a Molotov once. I dragged myself out before it exploded, my partner didn't. I buried more partners than I could count with one hand before things got better."

Miller paused his story there, stopped as they approached a group of uniforms and turned around so he was facing Lexa with a look that the brunette quickly identified as expectant.

"Are you saying… that even if we beat Nia, we still wouldn't have won because another threat will always emerge?"

"That's part of the answer," said Miller soberly. "The other part is that we will always be fighting only because the bad guys will beat us. And that's because there are always people who would rather die than not fighting back."

Fierce determination was burning in Miller's eyes as he spoke, but there was also something else. Like a Spartan warrior charging into a sea of Persians with nothing but a blade, gleaming under the watch of Apollo. No fear, no hesitation, no regret. It was one of acceptance. Suddenly, Miller's words made a lot more sense.

"Sir-"

"I'm the Commissioner," Miller interrupted, "If someone so much takes a flashlight from logistics, I read about it two minutes later. I certainly would know if two officers under my command were ordered to place the Assistant District Attorney under mandatory protective custody."

Blood rushed to Lexa's face.

"I'm not going to pretend I know more about your relationship than you do, but that girl has a heart of gold," said Miller firmly, but not unkindly. "When I offered you a job, you slept with your fingers on two things. A loaded M9 and a flask of Whiskey. If not for her there would be another tombstone right next to your parents'. Love is a powerful emotion, sometimes it blinds us. Don't lose sight of the fact that at the end of the day, she's her own person, and she won't stop being that for anyone, not even you."

Lexa nodded weakly.

"Looks like the Mayor's motorcade is arriving," Miller glanced at his phone. "We'd better get ready."

Lexa nodded again, and the duo made their way back to the podium. The Commissioner was by Kane's side in a second as the Mayor emerged from a black SUV surrounded by heavily armed SWAT officers. Kane put a hand on Miller's arm briefly in greeting and the pair strode to the podium. The Mayor stood behind the microphone with his signature cautiously-optimistic-diplomat smile and gave his enthusiastic supporters a small wave, while the grim-faced police chief took his seat between Pike and Jaha - it never occurred to Lexa that Kane and Miller might have had a history before city governance until then.

"People of Polis," Kane began his address, "97 years ago, a group of explorers from twelve countries set off on a brave journey to be the first men and women in the world to cross the Atlantic on an airship, a feat that many laughed off as crazy. They never quite made it to Halifax. A bolt of lightning struck the airship and set it alight. As the airship headed for a head-on collision with the Atlantic, the crew spotted something beyond the waters - an island, just off the shores of New England, for centuries hidden by the foggy weather and the trying storms. They named it Polis, after their airship the Polaris. Unlike the continent, the explorers and the locals agreed to come together and live peacefully and equally. As our founders drew up the first City Charter with the Grounders, they named the day Polis was founded, Unity Day, as a reminder that Polis shall only ever be great so long as it's united. For 97 years, Polis has been a safe haven for those fleeing from war, persecution, and disaster. Polis will always welcome anyone who has the audacity to dream of a better life, and the determination to fight for it. Today, we celebrate our Unity Day."

The crowd erupted as spectators began loudly applauding and cheering. There were even distinct chants of In-Kane-We-Trust if one concentrated hard enough. But Kane was unfazed and quickly gestured them to stop.

"Today, we also gather here to remember our friend, Jacapo Sinclair. Sinclair was a decent and honest man who dedicated his life to this city. He always fought passionately to settle another refugee, to protect another orphan, to shelter another veteran. As an engineer, he designed the bridge that connects Polis with the continent. As a father, he raised two daughters with his wife of 23 years. As a public servant, he was proud to be the first Councilor to attend a pride march. He inspired us, and we will honor him by fighting for what he believed in. Freedom, justice, and equality."

Lexa's radio cracked.

"Nia murdered him because she was afraid of him!"

Lexa pressed the receive button.

"Nia murdered him because she wants us to live in fear!"

Wanheda's urgent voice came through the radio.

"Nia murdered him because she wants to rule us!"

"Woods!"

"That is never going to happen because this is Polis!"

Lexa brought the radio closer to her face.

"We have never knelt to force and we never will!"

"Get him out of there!"

"We die before we surrender!"

"Something in the peripheral of Lexa's vision caught her attention. Her head snapped, the world around her seemed to be in slow motion as a bulky man with facial hair dressed in a black tactical SWAT uniform with a Kevlar vest raised his rifle, his eyes locked on the crosshair with a feral grin on his face.

Roan.

"And we will make our home safe agai-"

Three things happened in that instant. First, Roan pulled the trigger, the muzzle bursting as a bullet tore through the air at supersonic speed. Second, Lexa darted up from her seat, her mouth opening and forming an O-shape as a warning left her tongue. Third, a movement flashed in the corner of Lexa's eyes, so fast that it was barely a blur, perhaps faster than humanly possible.

Then, time resumed. With a loud groan, Kane's body dropped and hit the floor. Except the groan didn't come from him. It came from Miller. The bullet tore a hole through his chest and blood soaked the back of his dress uniform. He didn't get up again.

Roan turned around and trained his rifle on Vincent Vie, but Lexa had already launched herself into the air. Their bodies collided violently as the brunette used the force of the impact to slam his much heavier body to the ground, the bullet missing its trajectory badly.

Another SWAT officer turned his gun on the podium, but Octavia tackled him from the side, bringing him to the ground in a painful crash and slamming a pair of handcuffs on his wrists all in one swift motion. Several more uniforms followed the suit, but the rest of Lexa's team, too mindful to fire their weapons in a square overflowing with civilians, fought them bare knuckles. Shots rang out from the apartment buildings around them as SWAT snipers - the real ones this time, starting gunning down Azgeda fighters disguised in PCPD uniforms with pinpoint precision.

Pinned under Lexa, Roan struggled, but the brunette raised her fist and slammed it down on his face for good measures. His nose broke with a satisfyingly loud smack. Roan coughed up blood, but the coughs quickly turned into twisted laughs.

"What's so funny? The needle you are getting?"

Lexa was answered by several loud explosions in the crowd. With a loud curse, the brunette jammed her knee into Roan's stomach with as much force as she could muster and jumped up.

The chaos around her, if possible, had gotten even worse. People coughed violently as smoke was released everywhere by the strategically placed bombs. People quickly turned on each other, screaming madly and pounding with their fists. Somewhere amidst the chaos, Lexa saw Anya and Indra brawling like animals in a cage. Right in front of her, Lincoln knocked down a man before turning on his wife.

Lexa quickly intervened, grabbing Lincoln by the back of his vest and yanking him away from the terrified woman. The brunette shouted at the woman to run before turning around to face her squadmate, whose eyes had gone blood red from inhaling the chemical. He charged at Lexa with an animalistic growl, only for the brunette to sidestep it with ease. Lincoln stopped his run and shook his head, as if confused by the sudden disappearance of his prey. He turned around, but Lexa was already on him, jamming a Taser into his exposed neck and shocking him with enough current to knock him out. However, Lincoln returned within mere seconds. He struck Lexa's outstretched arm, sending the Taser flying uselessly and punching the brunette with so much force that she fell to the ground.

Lexa struggled to get back on her feet, only to have her movement halted by the icy sensation of a barrel pressed against her spine. An involuntary shiver shuddered through Lexa's body, and suddenly, it was gone.

Lexa turned around and found a PCPC-issued pistol being dismantled swiftly by Polis' resident superhero.

"Wanheda!" she gasped.

"Put this on," the masked vigilante handed the brunette a metal mask, and Lexa complied without resistance.

"What the hell is happening? Why did one of my best men just try to kill me?"

"It's a psycho-nerve agent," Wanheda replied. "Several trucks of it were stolen by the Azgeda in a car chase half a month ago. It seems that they found a way to weaponize and disperse it."

"Is there an antidote?"

"Not for thousands of people trapped in a square," said Wanheda. "The chemical, however, is extremely volatile. It shouldn't be longer than a few more minutes before the effect starts to wear off."

"Commander," Gustus interrupted them, eyeing Wanheda warily as he dragged a restrained Roan by the arm, "you need to hear this."

"Do you know how easy it is to kill two pigs?" Roan smirked, "maybe you should call your whore."

Lexa paled and dialed Costia's number with shaking fingers.

"LEXA!" Costia's scream was the only thing she heard before the line went dead.

"You son of a bitch!" Lexa surged forward and landed a solid punch on Roan's face before Wanheda and Gustus dragged them apart.

"Pike is missing!" Octavia appeared next to Wanheda.

"Let's play a game," Roan's eyes glinted madly with glee. "The rules are simple. We have both of them. Wanheda and Woods will go after one each. Don't worry, I will tell you exactly where you need to go. Pike is at 120 Hillington Avenue, and Costia is at Yorkdale 84, but you better hurry. If you fail to rescue them before time runs out, we execute them. Tick, tock."

Lexa and Wanheda glanced at each other, and the decision was made. The brunette could vaguely remember snatching the keys from a SWAT Sergeant as swung herself behind the wheel of a black SUV. The brunette slammed the gas and made a sharp turn leftward for the nearest exit from City Square. A few people threw themselves to the sides of the road as the SUV smashed through a makeshift roadblock.

Adrenaline coursed through Lexa's veins as the car swirled right to avoid an incoming Sedan, before slamming the brakes and spinning the wheel hard left. The tires screeched against the road in a series of sharp noises as the SUV performed a 180 in a perfect arc. The car lurched forward as the engine roared again, the brunette having to steady herself by tightening her grip on the steering wheel. The SUV ascended onto the highway that would take Lexa straight into the heart of Polis' former industrial glory.

The rest of the trip was a blur. Lexa exited the interstate with her heart racing. She parked the SUV two blocks away from the destination. The brunette checked her trustworthy sidearm once to make sure the safety was off and sprinted past rolls of empty apartment buildings. She felt naked without her Kevlar as she crouched down just outside the entrance, but there was no time to gear up. There was no time for anything. A quick glance at her watch told Lexa she had less than three minutes left and the brunette took a deep breath, her knuckles white from how tightly she was clutching her gun as she took a careful look through the creek.

Three people were in the expanse of the empty space in the abandoned factory. Two of them were standing, with beanies and jackets that had probably seen better days. MP5s were held loosely at their waists as the pair of Azgeda thugs paced around. The third person had a bag over their head.

Lexa closed her eyes and held her gun closely to her chest. She inhaled sharply, then looked through the creek once again, this time with her weapon raised. The brunette fired twice in quick succession, years of combat experience told her the bullets struck true as soon as they left the chamber. She waited for a second just in case more guards might appear. When that didn't happen, she quickly shoved aside inner whispers that it was too easy and rushed into the factory.

The brunette ripped off the bag and felt color draining from her face when the realization hit her like a speeding train.

Roan played me.

"They injected me with something," Pike muttered, as Lexa swung one of his arms around her shoulder. The brunette briefly glanced at an empty syringe on the ground, with some residue of a yellow-bluish liquid left.

"Can you walk?" Lexa asked.

Pike took an experimental step. His footing was off, but Lexa caught him.

"Lean your weight on me," the brunette instructed.

The duo made it outside the factory. Pike leaned against a wall and panted heavily as he slid down to the ground. Lexa checked her watch and realized, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that time was up.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

It was a call from Costia.

* * *

Clarke flashed her cape and hid in the shadows from the prying eyes. She upholstered her cable gun and fired, the metal wire latching onto the roof of a building. Clarke pulled the wire to make sure it was secure, and reattached it to her belt once satisfied. The masked vigilante pressed a button, and the metal cable quickly elevated her to the roof.

Clarke tapped the comms, "Raven, I need you to remotely access the bike's autopilot and direct it to my location."

"Consider it done," Raven replied quickly and without any of her usual teasings. "Southeast corner, fifteen seconds."

True to Raven's word, a black blur appeared in the corner of Clarke's vision as Wanheda's signature black Harley turned around the corner.

"Ten seconds."

Clarke brought up the cable gun, fired at the building across her and sprinted at the southeast corner.

"Five seconds."

Clarke leaped from the roof, using the cable as leverage to swing herself across the street.

"Now!"

Clarke released the latch and re-holstered the gun. The masked vigilante twisted her body gracefully, throwing her arms formed just in time to catch the bike's handles and pull herself down using the Harley's momentum.

"Handing control to you."

"Control to me," Clarke confirmed.

"The address Roan gave you leads to an empty two-story building by the docks," said Raven, "I've mapped out the fastest route on the Harley's GPS."

"Roger," Clarke replied, "I need you to pull the Dropship over there and scan the building for hostiles."

"Already on it," said Raven. "Preliminary scan from the long-range radar has picked up eight heat signatures on the second floor. I'll let you know once the building is in range for X-ray imaging."

"What's the situation on City Square?"

"The PCPD has made over fifty arrests, including Roan. There have been multiple confirmed fatalities, including David Miller and Dante Wallace. I'm sorry Clarke, I know how much he meant to you."

"Let's just focus on rescuing Pike," Clarke spoke in a tight voice, and Raven didn't push her. "There will be time for mourning later."

"I've got the X-ray. It's her. Nia is here. It could be a trap."

"Of course it's a trap," Clarke replied without a beat. "But what choice do I have? I'm not letting Nia execute Pike. Now get out of there."

"I'm not leaving you!" Raven protested immediately, "I can help."

"The missiles would blow up the entire building and kill everyone inside," said Clarke firmly, "and the lasers' guidance system needs more work before it's combat ready. You need to go."

"At least let me help you with entrance," Raven pressed, "I can hook you up and blow a hole through the roof."

"We don't have enough time," Clarke replied, "I have to do this the old-fashioned way, and I need you to let me. We both know I can take care of myself, but I won't put you at unnecessary risk. Do you understand me?"

Raven sighed in defeat, "alright."

"Then trust me when I say I can do this," Clarke said. "Now go."

The Harley came to a stop as the building entered Clarke's view. The masked vigilante moved across the deserted pier rapidly, skillfully concealing her advance in the shadows. It was barely afternoon but the sky had already darkened. Thick clouds gathered above Polis in the formation of a typical New England storm, providing Clarke the cover she needed to mask her approach with stealth.

Silently, the masked vigilante pushed the door open and crept into the building. Her combat boots landing on the ground without a sound as she made her way to the staircase. Clarke moved up the stairs rapidly while still maintaining her stealth, some might even mistake it for flying if they believed the wildest legends people told about Wanheda. A narrow hallway emerged from the horizon, leading to a closed metal door.

Clarke glanced at the time. Two minutes.

Very carefully, Clarke approached the door. Then, it exploded.

The force of the explosion was powerful enough to blast the masked vigilante into a wall, then crashing down the stairs roughly until she was lying on her back, her ears ringing and her eyes squeezed shut. It occurred to Clarke too late that Nia would rig the door with explosives and detonate it right when she was at it just for the theatrics. She should have checked for hidden cameras which Nia no doubt used to detect her, but the haste of her mission did not afford the time to do that.

Two pairs of hands grabbed Clarke's arms roughly and yanked her up. The masked vigilante was only dimly aware of the sensation of her body being dragged across the floor like a sack of potatoes, her gun long gone as she was bumped up the stairs. She barely registered the pain because it was everywhere. Her head was spinning, her chest was contracting desperately for oxygen. Her spine felt as if it was shattered to pieces and searing pain would shoot through her legs even at the slightest movement.

Finally, she was dumped to the ground after what felt like an eternity, so defenseless that she might as well be a dummy for target practice.

"Will you look at that," Clarke had to force herself not to flinch at the harsh artificial lighting. A smirking ice queen looked down at her from her throne, "the mighty Wanheda, lying at my feet like a dog."

Clarke spat at her.

"Such spirit!" Nia laughed, and backhanded Clarke across the face, "I will take great joy from crushing it."

A ton of dynamite went off behind Clarke's skull.

"Usually I prefer to go about it in more, pleasurable ways," Nia stalked toward Clarke like a predator, running an icy hand down her cheek, her nail digging into the skin sharply until the hand came to a stop at one of Clarke's breast guards. Nia's hand lingered there for a moment, before withdrawing. The Ice Queen rose swiftly and turned around to beacon at one of her thugs. "But I have something else prepared just for the occasion. Bring her out."

A pair of Azgeda guards dragged a hooded figure in front of Nia and shoved her down her knees. A gloved hand pulled off the bag, revealing disheveled dark hair and a pair of defiant brown eyes.

"Hello again, Costia," Nia smirked and removed the gag. "Looks like your fiancée doesn't love you enough to come face me."

"Don't listen to h-"

Someone kicked Clarke. Nia gave her guards and, and one of them handed her a phone, while several others shoved Costia on a metal chair bolted to the floor and snapped two pairs of handcuffs around her wrists.

"And the show begins!" Nia grinned maniacally and dialed a number, "Commander! I'm so glad you could join us."

Nia paused for Lexa's reply.

"I hope you are not talking about Wanheda," Nia laughed. "Because your hero looks like she has trouble saving even herself, let alone your fiancée."

Lexa must have retorted something that Nia didn't like because the Ice Queen snapped.

"Enough!" Nia bellowed, "the rules were simple. You save her, she lives. You fail, she dies. You are nowhere to be seen while I have your girl chained to a chair. Dear Costia is going to pay the ultimate price for your failure. But since I'm such a benevolent queen, I will allow you to say your goodbyes."

Nia tapped something, and a second later, Lexa's face visualized on the screen.

"Costia!" Lexa's voice was thick, clearing fight back a sob, "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Costia smiled at Lexa in a reassuringly soft way despite the knowledge of her imminent death. "It's not your fault. You tried."

"I'm sorry," Lexa choked, "I should have known it was a trick. I should have saved you. I should have listened. I'm sorry."

"I know you will want to blame yourself, but you have to promise me that you won't. It's going to be hard, but you will find a way to get through this because I know you. You are Lexa Woods, and you are the bravest, kindest and strongest person I know. Don't let this change who you are, can you promise me that?"

Lexa, with tears streaming down her face freely, could only manage a nod.

"How touching," Nia shook her head mockingly with faux sadness. "But you are out of time."

"I love you," Lexa whispered desperately, and Costia looked at her with a sad smile.

"I love you too," Costia said with conviction, "I love you, and I will keep loving you even after I die. May we meet agai-"

Nia struck Costia across the face, and the dark-haired woman fell to the ground.

Clarke, whose presence at this point had been forgotten by everyone else, managed to roll herself around and pushed herself up on her elbows. She watched on with surprise-turned-admiration as Costia spoke her final words with grace and dignity, instead of fear or hysteria that Nia was surely expecting. But they were out of time.

Two Azgeda thugs picked up a heavy-looking barrel and poured it over Costia. Nia took a step back and procured a lighter from her pocket. Clarke realized what the content was with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Lexa must have too because she let out a heart-piercing scream, but it only served to provoke a cruel snarl from Nia as the flames flickered on.

"Au revoir," Nia smirked and dropped the lighter.

Costia's screams were not like anything Clarke had ever known. The masked vigilante managed to propel herself up further, leaning against the wall and panting heavily. She tapped her gauntlet, Raven's words ringing in her ears.

You only get one shot.

Steeling herself, Clarke took aim and fired. The flames were still burning, but Costia's screams ceased, replaced with a gaping hole in her chest.

Clarke's arm fell back down just as Lexa let out another scream. Nia hissed angrily, ended the call with a swipe and threw the phone across the room. Her goons immediately trained their guns on Clarke, but the Ice Queen waved them off.

"It doesn't matter," said Nia. "We accomplished what we set out to do. Let's get out of here before the PCPD shows up."

The Ice Queen then walked to where Clarke was and leaned down until her face was only inches apart from Clarke's.

"You will live out the rest of your days, haunted by Costia. You will never be able to close your eyes without seeing her face. You will never be able to sleep without hearing her screams. You will never be able to live with yourself for failing to save her. Guilt will consume you like a wildfire until it breaks you. And when it does," Nia drawled and pressed her mouth to Clarke's.

"I will be waiting for you."

* * *

 _A/N: So, there it is. I'd like to say that I didn't want to kill Costia, especially not the way it happened. When I started writing this story, I had no idea I'd end up liking her as much as I do now. Was killing her 100% necessary for the story to continue? No, it wasn't, and I did look for ways to move the story forward while keeping her alive. But in every version of the story where Costia survives, neither Clarke nor Lexa could feasibly go to where I need them to be, and the dynamic between them could not shift in the way I need it to. The only way to avoid it would have been to completely restructure what happens from here, which was not realistic, and I had to proceed with the original plan._

 _Next time on The Ice Queen_

 _"I think I will go back to work on Monday," Lexa said._

 _"Are you sure?" Clarke added, "Marcus will understand if you need more time."_

 _"I'm sure," Lexa replied, "I've already spent too much time wallowing in my misery. Polis needs me."_


	8. Without You

**Chapter Eight: Without You**

Human emotions, Lexa learned at a young age, were complex beyond comprehension until you've gotten a taste of them yourself. Powerful emotions, as it turned out, can fundamentally change how you perceive the world. The world was made of colors. Lexa saw red for the first time in high school, when two laughing, big kids shoved a queer girl called Tris to the ground. The red didn't fade until her knuckles were bloody, and both of the bullies were nursing a black eye.

She did not feel remorse that day, but she saw yellow. Lexa wasn't all that surprised when the school counselor told her the emotion of satisfaction was often associated with that color. It couldn't have been more accurate. Black found its way into Lexa's life when she gunned down her first kill in Iraq. A figure so small in her scope that it was barely a dot. For a while, the blackness lingered. A squadrons of tanks, dozens of soldiers marching alongside them, row after row of empty residence buildings, a child too young to be called a soldier. Then a helicopter and a loud explosion. She woke up and saw white, the color of the hospital's walls.

When her parents died, a part of Lexa expected the red to return. For the fiend inside her to wake up and tear Nia apart, like the monster she was. But it didn't. The darkness endured and darkened until it was as black as her SWAT uniform.

Lexa wouldn't see red again until she met Costia. But the red wasn't the same. It was a different shade of red, pinkish, if she had to find a word for it. She didn't need a counselor to tell her what it meant that time.

After pink, Lexa's world was filtered by a curious shade of cyan. In scientific terms, cyan's wavelength rested between those emitted by blue and green. Peace and tranquility. If Lexa had to describe what cyan made her feel, she would have said home. From time to time, the cyan would flicker to the familiar dark red, violent and passionate, but Costia never led her to stray again. Lexa supposed her world had finally found the right frequency to vibrate on. Her permanence.

But now, her world was shattered. The cyan was all but a distant memory. She expected black to return like an old friend, to consume her until she slipped into the realm of Thanatos. Instead, she saw grey. It was dull without the anger and passion of the red, nor the death and horror that was the black. Her world was grey, and it was almost boring. The grey was impossible to describe. Lexa did not feel it as strongly as the red, or the black. In fact, she did not feel at all. But at the same time, the grey was everywhere, in every corner of her life. The grey seeped into every cell in her body until there was nothing but grey. And a little bit of white, the color of the exquisite liquor that was Vodka. Or was it the amber of Whiskey?

Lexa swallowed from where she was lying on the couch, the liquor burning in her throat as it made its way down her stomach. The bottle she was holding was empty, along with a dozen others scattered across the apartment. There were letters stuck on the bottle, probably the name of whatever inebriant she had just consumed at an unhealthy rate. But her vision was blurred, and the room seemed to be shaking, so Lexa couldn't read it.

Shrugging because she truly didn't care anymore, Lexa let go of it. Time may be a constant motion, but Einstein couldn't be more right. Time was relative. Lexa didn't lose count of how long it had been, but only because she was never counting in the first place. Costia's death was still too fresh in her mind. It was so painful that it could have been only minutes ago when she witnessed the violent death of the woman she loved. But at the same time, it felt like an eternity since she last looked into Costia's warm caramel eyes.

A part of her hoped the alcohol would irreversibly destroy her liver. Perhaps death was the only way to liberate her from the perpetual state of agony she was stuck in. But escaping the purgatory known as her new permanence would never be that easy.

"Hey."

 _Lexa swallowed. She was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, and while it sounded incredibly cliché, it didn't make it any less true. The face in front of her was a piece of art, the most refined sculpture created by the Goddess of Beauty herself, with a sharp jawline, prominent chins, a tall nose and two pools of caramel brown filled with so much warmth that they somehow found their way behind the ice around Lexa's heart, the perfect girl-next-door image completed by her long, smooth black hair that Lexa so desperately wanted to run her fingers through just to find out if they were as soft as they looked. A cheery smile was dangled on her rosy pink lips. The low collar of her blouse did very little to hide her neck. Her creamy, smooth neck. Lexa licked her lips._

 _"You wanna get lunch?"_

 _"Lexa."_

 _Lexa._

 _Lexa?_

"Lexa?"

Lexa blinked, and the cheery smile was pressed into a thin line. The eyebrows knotted together somewhat, the pools of warm chocolate brightened into a pair of striking blue, as dark as the oceans. Her hairline shifted back half a centimeter or so. The black flowing behind the lean shoulders slowly lightened until it became gold, the long, straight hair disappeared and moved up just below the neck, tousling. The soft, youthful voice was deeper, and a lot huskier. The image in front of Lexa shifted until it morphed into Clarke Griffin's concerned face.

"Lexa?"

 _"Lexa?"_

"Are you okay?"

 _"You wanna get lunch?"_

"Lexa?"

 _"Lexa?"_

 _Lexa?_

 _Lexa?_

 _Lexa?_

A warm hand made contact with her arm.

Lexa leaned off the couch and vomited on the floor.

The warmness withdrew.

It was Lexa's first real human contact since Unity Day, and she fucking threw up.

Distantly, she could remember tears streaming down her face as the line died. She slipped to the ground, Pike long forgotten until a patrol cruiser arrived and rushed the semi-conscious DA to a hospital. She could vaguely remember Kane telling her to take as much time off as she needed in a grave voice as a police car drove her home - it might have been another cruiser, or an SUV drove by one of her squad mates, but Lexa didn't remember. They didn't let her in until the bodies of the officers she posted outside the apartment had been removed, and the blood cleaned.

Various members of her team showed up at her apartment afterward. Lexa didn't care enough to leave her alcohol and let them in. Anya might have threatened to knock down the door with a ram at some point. Lexa tried to jog her foggy memories, only to be met with a throbbing headache behind her skull. She gave up after that.

"H-How the hell did you get in here?" Lexa groaned, her voice was a lot more hoarse than she expected.

Clarke and showed the brunette an unclipped hairpin. "Having a few unconventional skills comes in handy when you live in Polis."

The blonde picked up a bin and shoved all the empty bottles on the table in it before setting it back down. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a glass of water and an aspirin pill. "It will make you feel better."

One of Lexa's arms shot up abruptly and swung - more forcefully than she intended, and knocked the glass off the table. It shattered with a loud smash.

"It's okay, I'll clean it up," said Clarke in what was intended to be a reassuring manner, only that Lexa found it anything but.

"Stop saying that! It's not okay!" The brunette snapped.

"You are right, it's not," the blonde didn't seem deterred by Lexa's aggressiveness. If anything she appeared even more persistent. "What you are going through is terrible, and nobody should have to experience it."

"Why are you even here?" Lexa demanded.

"Because you are my friend," Clarke hesitated, something flickered in her eyes for a fleeing second before the blonde replied, "and I'm worried about you. So I came here to see if you are okay."

"I'm fucking fantastic," Lexa laughed coldly.

"Lexa," Clarke said, "please let me help you."

"I don't want your help!" Lexa snarled. "So you can take your aspirin and your pity and get the fuck out of my apartment."

"I don't pity you, Lexa. I care about you because you are my friend. I understand what you are going through and I want to help. So please, let me help you."

"How could you possibly understand?" Lexa shot her a skeptical look.

"You are not the only one who's lost someone special to them."

Lexa was unmoved.

"Fine," Clarke sighed in defeat, running a hand through her hair, "I'll give you space if that's what you want. But please, remember that you are not alone. There are people who care about you. I care about you."

The blonde left promptly.

Lexa stared at her retreating figure in silence.

 _"Hey."_

 _"Wanna get lunch?"_

 _"Lexa?"_

Lexa was haunted by the memory of Costia.

That, more than anything else, was the reason the brunette chose to hide away in her apartment. The memory of the day they met kept replaying itself in her head.

Costia's eyes were always full of warmth. It was one of the many things Lexa was attracted to. Some said her best feature was her dazzling smile, tricking everyone into thinking she was a cinnamon who got her job because of her legs, when she was, in fact, a heavyweight puncher in the courtroom. She didn't harbor any illusions about Polis' political system in the era of Nia, but she never lost faith in humanity's inherent goodness either.

She was a vision to behold, and Lexa fell in love with her while trying to figure out what Costia saw in her.

Lexa gripped onto the table tightly. Her head was spinning as flashbacks hit her. Except those weren't from the day they met.

The room was dark, and several figures were standing, all blurred. But she could still make out Costia's face. She could always make out her face. She was terrified. Costia had long learned to cover that particular emotion as a prosecutor in Polis, but Lexa knew her fiancée intimately enough to spot the fear hidden beneath the caramel eyes.

Lexa was frozen. She opened her mouth to say Costia's name, but nothing came out. She tried to move, but her feet were rooted to the spot. She couldn't do anything but watch. She never could.

Costia's screams echoed perpetually in her ears. No matter what Lexa did, it wouldn't stop. She was stuck in her worst nightmare, and she couldn't escape, for her worst nightmare was her reality. Watching the woman she loved die over and over again, and she couldn't do anything to stop it.

Suddenly, something changed. There was another voice. It was distant and faint, but Lexa caught it right the way. The brunette concentrated on the voice. The words were blurred, but there was no mistake to what they were.

 _"I care about you."_

 _"You are my friend."_

 _"I care about you."_

 _I care about you._

Lexa blinked and found herself back in her living room. To say it was a mess would be a huge understatement. Empty bottles and tin cans and glass shards were scattered everywhere. A glass frame was lying on the floor. Lexa bent down to pick it up and winced when she saw the glaring cracks in the glass.

It was a picture of them shortly after they started dating. Costia had an arm around Lexa's shoulder. She was laughing, a beautiful expression to adorn her face. They were so happy. Youth and life exuded from them, despite the scars they already bore. Costia was always so bright. Nothing could ever dampen her spirit. There were many times when Lexa felt Costia was the personification of the sun walking among them. Her eyes, as always, were bright and warm. Now, they were pale and void.

Putting the glass frame away, Lexa knew what she had to do.

* * *

"Sorry, we are not open tod-"

Surprise was visible on Clarke's face when she realized who it was.

"I'm sorry to show up just like this," Lexa began, "But I couldn't stay at my apartment. Costia was everywhere, and the thought that Nia was ther-"

Clarke ushered her inside.

"It's okay, you don't have to explain anything," said the blonde as they entered the attic. "Make yourself at home while I get the coffee machine going."

Lexa set her duffle bag on the couch as Clarke disappeared into the kitchen. The attic was exactly like Lexa remembered, massive and pristine. Something twisted in Lexa's stomach uncomfortably when she realized that the last time she was there, Costia was with her.

Rising abruptly, Lexa docked into the first room she found. She flickered the lights on, and something caught her eyes right away. There was a painting in the middle of the massive studio. She was wearing a dark green gown that resembled the color of the forest. Costia had picked out the dress for her, grinning as she told Lexa it matched her eyes. One of her arms was hooked around Costia's waist as their bodies swirled. Dozens other couples must have been on the dance floor with them, but all they saw was each other. Costia was a divine beauty in her rosy red dress. Her long black hair cascaded down her shoulder freely. Her brown eyes were shining with happiness as they locked on Lexa's - two pools of forest green mirroring the look in Costia's eyes. It was an image of perfection.

"I finished it just before Unity Day," Clarke said softly, "I was going to give it to you after the parade, bu-"

The blonde cleared her throat, "If you are not ready then-"

"It's okay, I want something to remember her by," Lexa whispered. "It's beautiful. How much do you want for it?"

"Don't worry about the money," Clarke replied. "That's not why I painted this."

Lexa offered her a small, grateful smile.

"You told me before that you lost someone you cared about too. Who did you lose?" Lexa asked.

Clarke hesitated. "I know it's hypocritical of me to ask you to talk about your feelings when I can't even do it myself, but I-"

"No, I'm sorry I asked. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"His name was Finn," Clarke said after a long pause. "I met him in Arkadia during my travels. He was my first love."

"What happened?"

"I wanted to leave Arkadia so we could build a life together, but Finn-" Clarke sighed. "He loved me as much as I loved him, but he didn't understand why I wanted to leave. He never did. He thought I was making a mistake. He was never going to go with me, but he didn't want to leave me either. We loved each other too much for that. So he did something. Something tha-"

The blonde cut herself off so abruptly that it was almost violent.

"I'm sorry," Clarke apologized. "It's been years since I last saw Finn. I thought I'm ready, but I guess I'm not."

"You don't have to be ready until you are." Lexa replied.

Clarke chuckled. "I'm supposed to be the one making you feel better, not the other way around."

Lexa made a small noise that resembled a laugh, her lips twitching up so slightly that Clarke thought she imagined.

"Tell me about Costia."

"Costia was my everything," Lexa smiled sadly, her eyes softening. "She was the kindest person I've ever known. She always had a smile on her face, no matter what. She made everyone feel like they mattered. She was special."

Lexa's voice cracked. "I miss her so much."

"Shhh, it's okay, it's okay," Clarke whispered, wrapping her arms around the brunette.

* * *

Lexa must have fallen asleep from exhaustion, because the next thing she knew, she was waking up under a thick layer of blanket. The mattress she was lying on was big and soft - a heavenly improvement from her beat-up couch. The room she was in was large but sparsely decorated. Judging by the dim natural lighting from the window, sunset was not far away.

"You are awake," Clarke observed.

"Thanks for letting me stay."

"What are friends for?"

"I think I will go back to work on Monday," Lexa said.

"Are you sure?" Clarke added. "Marcus will understand if you need more time."

"I'm sure," Lexa replied. "I've already spent too much time wallowing in my misery. Polis needs me."

"Alright," Clarke nodded.

"Costia wouldn't want me to be like this. She told me she didn't want me to blame myself," Lexa looked at Clarke, and the blonde felt a pang of guilt, "and she was right. Her death wasn't my fault. It was Wanheda's. It was her job to save Costia and she failed. Costia is dead because of her."

"The next time I see her, I'm going to kill her."

* * *

When Kane clasped the Commissioner's pin on Lexa's dress uniform, the brunette felt nothing but numbness. Lexa remembered vividly when Costia told her her grand plan to save Polis for the first time. She would be the DA and Lexa would be the Police Commissioner, Costia had said, and all they would need was a good Mayor and a majority on City Council.

Lexa had laughed, writing it off as Costia being her eccentric self. She thought it had been a joke. It hadn't. As years passed and both of them moved up the ranks, the fire in Costia's eyes burned brighter and brighter until it was unstoppable. Prosecutors, judges, cops, councilors, business leaders; Costia began drawing up a list of people they could count on. She was convinced, and for a while, so was Lexa.

Now, the Commissioner's pin weighed heavy on Lexa's chest, but when she glanced next to her, Costia was nowhere to be seen.

"Congratulations," Kane's voice was heavy. The Mayor looked like he had aged ten years since Lexa last saw him. Lines appeared to be a permanent feature on his forehead. There were bags under his bloodshot eyes, and a few strands of his hair had greyed. The man who once inspired Polis with optimism and hope now looked like he was terminally ill. "I wish the circumstances were better."

Lexa shook his hand. It was a weak grip.

"David was very insistent that you be named the new Commissioner if anything happened to him," said Kane, "and I couldn't disagree with him. You are the best person to lead the PCPD."

"Thank you, sir," Lexa nodded half-heartedly.

"Luna was put in charge of the task force until you returned," Kane continued, "but we've made very little progress about finding Nia. David directed the funds from Griffin Enterprise to go to new equipment from Mt. Weather. The first shipment has already arrived. The doctors are keeping a close eye on Charles. We don't know what Nia injected him or what it does, but the doctors are concerned about long-term psychological impacts. They think the drug might have affected the chemistry of his brain."

Lexa nodded. "If that's all, I'd like to get back to the station."

"There is something else," Kane took out a blank envelope and gave it to Lexa. "You should see for yourself."

Lexa opened the envelope and found a pile of photos inside. She took them out and examined them. It didn't take the brunette long to figure out the photos were taken at the warehouse where four cops were gunned down by the Azgeda. The first photo showed a section of Nia's hit list. Costia, Pike and Miller's names had all been crossed off. The second showed a lower section of the wall, where a zodiac sign had been painted next to Lexa's name. The last photo displayed a new message - SOON, written in the same blood red paint as the names. The brunette slid the photos back into the envelope and returned it to Kane.

"I'm sorry about Costia, I've never met a person who had anything other than praise for her. I came back to Polis because I wanted to bring the people who murdered Callie to justice. Now, I've lost another friend. This war has taken so much from all of us," Kane cleared his throat. "Anyway, I suggest you name a deputy, just in case."

Lexa nodded weakly.

She left City Hall shortly after and drove to the station. Her team all greeted her arrival carefully. Lexa waved them away - not willing to subject herself to pitying looks, and asked Luna to walk with her on the way to the Commissioner's office - her office now.

"I'm making your promotion official," Lexa told Luna.

"Thank you," The raven-haired woman replied.

"I'm afraid your first order of business will have to be filling vacancies, seeing as I've got a few of my own," Lexa said. "I'm assigning Indra to the Academy and Echo to Counterterror Division."

"What about SWAT?" Luna suggested. "They need a new Commander and Octavia is ready to take on greater responsibilities."

"I agree," Lexa replied as they passed a row of empty detectives' desks with thick files scattered across them. "But she and Lincoln are the most dynamic partners I've ever seen. It would be crazy to break them up. I'll put Anya there."

"She would do a fine job there," Luna nodded. "Speaking of Anya, she's worried about you. We all are."

"Your concern is appreciated but unnecessary," Lexa dismissed, "I'm fine.

"We've known each other since we were kids," Luna said seriously. "You don't have to be 'fine' with me. You just lost your fiancée, at least talk to someone about it."

"I'm staying with Clarke," Lexa replied. "She's been helping me cope with everything."

"Clarke Griffin?" One of Luna's eyebrows shot up, "I didn't know you were friends."

"I met her not long ago," Lexa said. "It's a long story."

"That's awfully nice of her," Luna observed.

"It is," Lexa agreed. "But really, I'm fine."

Luna didn't look convinced even the slightest, but they had come to a stop outside the Commissioner's office, so she let it drop.

"I'll call you if I need anything else," Lexa said with finality, and Luna left with some reluctance.

The brunette pushed open the door and made her way into her new office. They had already cleared out Miller's things from it. The room was bare and more spacious than Lexa was used to. A small mountain of folders already piled up on her desk. Lexa picked up the one on the top and opened it. It was a manifest of the first shipment from Mt. Weather. Next-generation assault rifles, scopes, radios, headsets, laptops and armored trucks, Clarke had made sure they got enough money to buy everything Miller requested. Making a mental note to thank the blonde later, Lexa moved to the next folder.

It was a list of officers killed on Unity Day. Lexa quickly signed off benefits for their families and put it away. The third file was only one piece of paper thin, a progress report with sparse details on the search for Nia. Lexa summarized it into we are trying, but we don't know where the fuck she is. Rubbing her forehead, the brunette picked up another file, a message from Byrne, the acting DA that multiple informants are believed to have been made and executed by the Azgeda. By then a migraine had kicked in, and Lexa pushed the pile aside, her mind turning to a far more unpleasant thought - Wanheda.

* * *

"You wanted to see us?" The door to Lexa's office opened, revealing Octavia and Lincoln.

"Yes," The brunette replied, beaconing the pair to come in. "Take a seat."

"I have an assignment for you," Lexa continued. "I want you to put together a team. You are authorized to pick anyone employed by the PCPD and whatever resource you require will be at your disposal."

"What is the assignment?" Lincoln looked both flattered and startled.

"I want you to find out everything you can about Wanheda," said the brunette. "Who she works with, where she gets her supplies from, how she operates. I want a complete report of intelligence on her and an actionable plan to apprehend, and if necessary, terminate her."

"Terminate her?" Octavia looked alarmed, her voice a pitch higher than it normally was.

"Those are my orders," said Lexa firmly. "Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lincoln nodded, but Octavia had other ideas.

"Mayor Kane's policy is to work with Wanheda, not to kill her."

"That won't be a problem because Mayor Kane isn't going to know," Lexa's tone was hard to the absolute and left no room for argument. "Wanheda is within my jurisdiction, and the Mayor has bigger problems to worry about than a rogue vigilante."

"Rogue?" Octavia looked scandalized. "She saved your life at the parade!"

Lexa stopped and looked at Octavia for a moment before turning to Lincoln. "Lincoln, will you give us a minute?"

Lincoln looked hesitant, but left the room anyway.

Lexa reached into a drawer and pulled out a bottle of Whiskey and two tumblers.

"Drink?" Lexa arched an eyebrow at Octavia, who shook her head.

"I don't drink," the other brunette replied.

"I did," Lexa scrolled off the lid and began pouring herself a liberal amount of Whiskey. "I loved drinking. I drank in the morning, I drank in the afternoon, I drank every day at every waking hour. Some days, I drank until I passed out. When I woke up again, it would already be dark. So I went out to a bar or a club, picked up a girl and drank more."

By the time Lexa stopped, the amber liquor was three fingers high.

"I heard you had some difficult times after your parents died," Octavia offered.

"No shit," Lexa snorted. "I was completely off the rails. In fact, I was surprised that Miller didn't fire me for drinking on the job every day. Costia was the one who pulled me out of the hellhole I was in. If not for her I would have killed myself a long time ago."

The brunette took a large gulp of Whiskey.

"You see, Octavia," Lexa looked at her coldly, "I was young once. I know what it's like to be in love. You feel so much passion, like a fire consuming you. You think you are unstoppable, but that is a fantasy. Let me give you a dose of reality. Internal Affairs has been watching you and Lincoln for quite a while now. Personally, I don't care about fraternization as long as you can do your job, so I told them I was wavering the rules. But if I feel like you can't, then one call from me, and an investigation starts. Believe me when I tell you, Internal Affairs will look into every corner of your life and they will know if you cheated on your math test in elementary school. They are going to be so thorough that by the time they are finished, privacy will be a completely foreign concept to you. Now, of course, they might not find anything, and good on you if they don't. But if they do, then both of you either get suspended, transferred or fired. You might just tell me to fuck off and I have no doubt that you will. But we don't want Lincoln to lose his dream job, do we?"

Octavia was furious, that much Lexa could tell. Her face was red and her hands curled into fists with so much force that Lexa could see her veins popping. Her eyes told unspoken rage. If a look could kill then Lexa would have been dead a thousand times over. But it couldn't, so Lexa bid her time and drank her Whiskey.

Finally, Octavia's shoulders sagged as a sign of defeat.

"When you go outside, you are going to tell Lincoln that you think Wanheda is a threat and she must be stopped before she kills more innocent people," Lexa ordered. "Therefore you will do everything in your power to help the investigation. Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Octavia said through gritted teeth.

"You are dismissed," Lexa waved and Octavia stomped out of the room without another word.

Lexa finished her Whiskey.

* * *

 _Next time on The Ice Queen_

 _"Hello, Wanheda," Nia greeted with no weapon visible. "I had a feeling that I might see you here. I hope you've seen reason and decided to join me in New Polis."_

 _"I haven't come to join you, I've come to stop you," Clarke replied forcefully. "It's over. Call off the attacks and let Pike go."_

 _"Far from it," Nia looked bemused. "Polis' salvation has just begun."_


	9. Long Live The Queen

**Chapter Nine: Long Live The Queen**

Costia's funeral was a grim affair, as with everything else in Polis nowadays. There was no family to be spoken of. Both her parents had been among Nia's first victims, as had Lexa's. It was one of the reasons she and Costia understood each other so well. So she sat on the front, with Clarke as her emotional support as the pastor spoke.

The funeral was held in the early afternoon. More people showed up than Lexa expected. Most of them were complete strangers who Costia had helped during her legal career. Her team was there - Lexa didn't ask them to come, but she didn't need to, something she was grateful for beyond words.

Anya looked as unflappable as always, but Lexa knew better. She was very fond of Costia, everyone was. Lincoln looked pained, as if someone had struck him in the chest with something dull and heavy. Octavia held his hand tightly, where no one was watching. Gustus, who was known for being overly affectionate for a man his size, was fighting down tears.

It was a sunny day, the rich green meadow was shining with the reflection of sunlight, in stark contrast with the black everyone was wearing. The rare occasion where the sun made an unobstructed appearance was exactly what Costia would have wanted for her funeral. The atmosphere, less.

Grief and loss could be felt in the air, but it wasn't what made it suffocating. A sense of foreboding was looming. Everyone had one thing on their mind - if they were going to be the next. It was remarkable how people can feel so depressed on such a bright day.

Costia would have really hated that.

Kane had wanted to come, but his security and Lexa talked him out of it. People seemed to be relieved that the Mayor wasn't going to be painting a neon target sign on their back.

The pastor stopped, and Lexa rose shakily to deliver the eulogy. She hadn't understood why there was a pastor since neither she nor Costia had been particularly religious, but the brunette did find some odd comfort in the presence of the man clad in black robes.

"I met Costia when she was a junior attorney at the DA's Office, and I was a rookie in the PCPD," Lexa began without a script - she didn't need one, "I didn't think much of her at first. Young idealists are never in short supply around here. But that wasn't her. Costia was a tenacious prosecutor. She could see details so small that others couldn't find with a magnifying glass. She could take a case apart with the precision of a scalpel. But that's not why we are here today."

Lexa paused and glanced across the crowd.

"We are here because we all loved Costia. Costia saved many lives not only with her brilliance, but also her endless empathy for her neighbors, and their neighbors. Polis has often shown the ugliest side of humanity, but Costia's faith never wavered. And we will honor her by fighting for what she believed in, a world without division, where everyone comes together in love," Lexa's voice didn't waiver through the eulogy. Her eyes were firm and dry, having shed enough tears for Costia. Revenge was the only thing left to be done.

"Amen." The pastor said quietly but clearly.

"Amen." The crowd muttered.

It was exactly what one expects a funeral to look like. A grieving significant other, a tale of untold pain and loss in her words as she tried her best not to break down while delivering the eulogy. The solemn face of a pastor as the funeral proceeded. A crowd of loved ones and admirers, all dressed impeccably in the most formal black wear they could find, whispering words of comfort and grief to each other. It was all too eerily familiar.

Lexa didn't know whether she was angry or relieved when the silence was shattered by a shrill laugh and loud claps.

"A very moving speech, Commissioner," Nia laughed and applauded as she entered the scene, suddenly appearing behind Lexa. She was wearing a long overcoat that was as pale as snow. The material was made of soft animal furs so expensive only those at the very top of the food chain could afford it. Her appearance was as icy as her reputation, making her stand out from the crowd of black-clad grievers sharply. A gloved hand held a pistol loosely, "I don't believe I've had the chance to congratulate your promotion yet. It's only fitting that the stinkiest pig gets the top job."

"Nia." If Nia was ice then Lexa was the polar opposite. Her tone was venomous and her eyes were so intense that they could burn a hole into Nia's face. There was nothing but burning hatred in her voice as she turned around to face the ice queen. One of her hands reached for the gun strapped to her thigh subtly, "I don't remember inviting you."

"You didn't," Nia replied with feigned sadness. "But I thought I should come anyway to offer my condolences. It's what is expected of a queen, after all."

"This is Polis," Lexa snarled, "Our warm hospitalities extend to everyone except for pseudo-kings and queens. We behead them instead. You can help by adding your name to the list."

"On second thought," Nia smiled icily, "I think I know what I can do. You are in a terrible amount of pain because of your loss. The humane thing to do is surely to reunite you with your lover. At the gates of the Underworld."

"Please." The Pastor implored as he stepped forward, placing himself between the two women. "This is a funeral-"

"Yours, it seems," Nia interrupted, pressing her gun to the pastor's forehead, quicker than Lexa could intervene. "Say hello to your God for me, father."

The pastor's body hit the ground silently as the muzzle of Nia's gun burst once. His blood, still warm, splattered across the green meadow. There was a hole in his forehead as red liquid poured from it. His voided eyes stared at the sky emptily as the crowd let out a collective gasp. Panicking funeral-goers made to flee, but a dozen figure appeared out of nowhere. They were all dressed in white instead of their regular uniform, much like their leader, with camouflaged MP5s, raised and doubtlessly loaded as they approached the crowd warningly, forcing them to still their motions. In the corner of her eyes, Lexa could see Anya hiding her gun in her coat.

"Now. You." Nia turned away from the pastor's lifeless body, shifting her aim back to Lexa, only to be met with the end of a barrel. A shot rang out, and the pistol flew out of Nia's hand with a loud metallic clatter. The brunette trained her gun on Nia's face and held it there for several moments before tossing it away.

"It's just you and me now, Nia," Lexa challenged. Nia's mouth twisted into a pleased smile as she waved off her thugs.

"You must have a death wish." The Ice Queen drawled.

"My parents, six partners, now Costia," said Lexa. "There have been too many funerals of people I cared about because of you. I'm sick of it."

"Don't worry," Nia smirked. "There is just one more left. Yours."

Without warning, Lexa and Nia charged at each other simultaneously. That's when all hell broke loose. Anya burst out of her cover, dropping two Azgeda thugs with pinpoint precision. Indra and Gustus followed, guns ablaze, drawing the fight away from the crowd. The Azgeda quickly returned fire, their automatic weapons giving them an edge in firepower, forcing the firefight into a stalemate with the cops pinned and the thugs spread thinly. Lincoln was evacuating the funeral-goers, while Octavia covered him with short bursts of pistol fire. Clarke came at a thug with a metal chair, knocking him out and nicking his submachine gun.

Nia was clearly a seasoned fighter, but so was Lexa. The Ice Queen attacked first with a probing jab, Lexa swirled aside easily and swung at Nia's face. The Ice Queen dodged and quickly brought up a leg. Lexa blocked the kick and feigned a punch at Nia's throat before lunging forward and slamming down her elbow viciously. Nia leaned back, but the blow still caught her, splitting her bottom lip. Lexa followed up with a kick, not giving the Ice Queen any time to recover. Nia, however, was prepared. She caught Lexa's leg mid-air, using the brunette's momentum against her as she pushed back, sending Lexa to the ground. Nia struck, stomping her foot at Lexa, only for the brunette to turn away at the last second, avoiding the blow by mere inches. Lexa turned back around and swung wildly, her arm catching Nia's leg and knocking her off her feet.

Nia slammed into the ground hard. She swung her boot at Lexa, and the brunette brought up her arms protectively, blocking the blow from doing any real damage. She pushed, and Nia was forced to roll away from Lexa. The brunette quickly jumped back onto her feet, but so did Nia.

"Impressive," said Nia. "But not enough."

"We'll see about that," Lexa spat.

Lexa charged at Nia, leaping off the ground with a fist raised. She brought down her fist with the entire weight of her descend, but Nia struck first, her foot ramming into Lexa's stomach before the brunette's fist could connect with her face, sending Lexa flying. Lexa crashed into the ground again, but quickly rolled herself into a ball, crouching as she landed. Nia was the one to charge this time, and Lexa propelled herself up, the two women meeting mid-air in a violent collision. Lexa landed on top of Nia, connecting her fist with the Ice Queen's face, creating a satisfying cut above her eyebrow. Lexa pulled back and made to punch her again, but Nia had anticipated the move. One of her arms shot up and grabbed Lexa by the throat. Lexa hit Nia's arm hard, forcing the Ice Queen to loosen her grip, only for Nia to ram a fist into Lexa's stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

Lexa gasped for her breath. Nia seized the opportunity and struck Lexa again, this time knocking her back to the ground. The brunette struggled to get back up, but Nia was already on her, kicking her side this time. Lexa fell again, but Nia was unrelenting. The Ice Queen laughed coldly as she grabbed Lexa by her hair and yanked her head up painfully. Lexa bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, not giving Nia the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

"You are pathetic!" Nia sneered and slammed Lexa's face into the ground with the force of a truck.

"So weak!" Nia repeated the motion, and Lexa's head pounded in pain. Her ears were ringing so much that she didn't hear Nia walking away and returning with a gun.

"The greatest fire the world has ever seen will purge Polis of weaklings like you," Nia pressed the gun against Lexa's temple. "New Polis will be a paradise. It's almost a pity that you are never going to see it."

"Drop the gun, bitch!" A voice bellowed menacingly. Lexa cracked open one eye, and Gustus was standing there with a battered suit and a gun leveled at Nia.

"I see the guard dog is here," Nia sneered.

"I said drop the gun!" Gustus snapped.

"As you wish," said the Ice Queen, letting the pistol slip from her grip.

"Kick it over here," Gustus ordered.

Nia complied without protest.

Gustus glanced at Lexa for a second. "Now, you are going to-"

The first rule of battle, never take your eyes off the enemy, especially one as deadly as Nia.

A throwing knife slipped into Nia's hand as Gustus' sight moved away from her to Lexa. The Ice Queen hurled the dagger, and Gustus, with widened eyes, moved away from the blade's trajectory just barely. The sharp edge of the knife grazed Gustus' neck, drawing blood instantly. Nia moved so quickly that her motion was nothing but a white blur. By the time Gustus regained his footing, the ice queen had already closed the distance between them.

Nia body-slammed into Gustus, catching him completely off guard. Gustus landed on his back, with a cold metal pressed against his chest. He opened his mouth to say something, but Nia pulled the trigger twice in quick succession.

Nia got up, laughing as she walked away, leaving Lexa to drag her body across the meadow desperately to where Gustus laid dying.

"No!" Lexa cried, tears streaming down her face as Gustus gasped for oxygen in futile.

"Le-Lexa," Gustus croaked.

Lexa took Gustus' hand between hers and squeezed tightly, "I'm here."

"S-Stay strong," Gustus coughed.

"I will, I promise," Lexa sobbed.

Gustus led out one last breath, his arms dropping limply to the sides.

"No!" A scream left Lexa's mouth, "No!"

* * *

Lexa didn't know how long she sat there next to Gustus' lifeless body, screaming until her voice broke, crying until her eye glands dried. The soft sound of a pair of boots stepping on the meadow was what broke Lexa out of her trance.

Lexa looked up and found Echo there, looking at her sympathetically.

"How bad is it?" The brunette asked, her voice hoarse.

"Seven civilians dead, eleven injured," Echo reported. "We lost Tristan. Quint is in the hospital, but the doctors don't think he's going to make the night. Good news is, we know where Nia is."

"Where?" Lexa's hands curled into fists.

"A cruiser is engaging her at the corner of Thompson and Apollo," Echo replied.

"Let's go."

They took a SWAT truck - police reinforcements must have arrived at some point during her brawl with Nia. Echo drove and Lexa didn't dispute, not trusting herself after what happened earlier. She sat in the back of the truck, shed the black dress she was wearing for tactical gear.

"A SWAT team will meet us at the scene," Echo told her. "Do you want me to call Luna?"

"No," Lexa opened the armory locker and picked out an assault rifle. "Tell her to stay and help first responders with the wounded."

"It's not your fault, you know," Echo said after a pause.

Lexa didn't reply. She put on a Kevlar vest instead. "How much longer?"

"We are two blocks out," Echo answered. "Backup won't be here for ten more minutes."

"I don't need back up," Lexa hissed. "What I need is to do what I should have done when I had the chance. I should have shot that bitch, then shot her again and cut off her head just for good measure."

"We are here," Echo announced after a brief silence. The other woman picked up a submachine gun next to her seat and loaded it.

Lexa swung the door open and jumped out of the truck. The corner of Thompson and Apollo Streets was just around an old theater that used to show muppet shows but had been closed for years, leading to one of the most impoverished, and subsequently, most crime-ridden neighborhoods in Polis.

The streets were empty, and eerily quiet, like a ghost town. The sun was coming down as dusk approached, paired with broken street lighting and buildings made of black bricks that had probably started to erode from the constant raining and poor maintenance, producing a very dark scene in front of Lexa.

The brunette frowned, years of combined experience in the Army and the PCPD had every internal alarm ringing like crazy. She pushed the feeling of uneasiness aside, opting to turn on the tactical flashlight attached to her Mt. Weather-built rifle and proceed ahead. Lexa quickly scanned the area in front of her. No signs of civilian presence, poor visibility, and dead silence. She was about to go back into the truck and radio Luna when the flashlight caught something, a police cruiser with the letters PCPD painted on it.

Lexa approached the vehicle after double checking to make sure the safety was off. The windshield was completely shattered, and one of the front doors was open, but the car was vacant.

Louds sounds of combats boots thudding on the concrete ground came from behind, causing the brunette to turn around sharply, her rifle trained on the source of the footsteps, her muscles tensing until she realized it was Echo.

"Found anything?"

"The cruiser is empty," Lexa replied. "No sign of the patrol officers or Nia."

"Makes sense," Echo nodded.

"What do you mean?" Lexa furrowed her eyebrows.

"Nia was never here," Echo shrugged. "Of course you wouldn't find any signs of her."

"But you said-"

"Oh well," Echo smirked in a way that caused Lexa's grip on the rifle to tense involuntarily. "Guess I lied."

"What the hell are you playing at?" Lexa demanded angrily.

"Isn't it obvious?" Echo laughed. "You are alone, in one of Polis' most notorious neighborhoods without back up, or a way to let anyone know where you are. People won't even blink if they find a dead cop here. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

"You are working for the Azgeda?" Lexa's eyes widened as the cold truth dawned on her.

"And we have a winner," Echo clapped mockingly.

"You fucking traitor!" Lexa snarled, training the rifle on Echo's chest. "Where is Nia? Where the fuck is she!"

"Why? Are you finally going to surrender?" Echo looked amused, and a fiendish fire ignited inside Lexa's chest.

"Tell me where the fuck Nia is or I put a fucking hole between your eyes!" The brunette shouted furiously, her voice shaking and her face red.

"Go ahead," Echo taunted. "Shoot."

Lexa shot her, but nothing happened. She pulled the trigger again, and still, Echo stood there, smirking.

"You pigs are so stupid," Echo grinned smugly, the submachine gun she was holding came up. "You think you are one step ahead of us, but really, we've been three steps ahead of you this whole time."

"What do you want?" Lexa asked, jaw clenched.

"It's not what I want, it's what the Ice Queen wants, and she wants to see you. But I can offer you a choice."

"What choice can I possibly have? You are the one with the gun."

"I can take you to the queen like I was instructed to," said Echo, "and she'll torture you in fifty different ways before she kills you. Or, I can shoot you right here, and spare you the pain before your inevitable death at the queen's hands. It's quite merciful, I'd say."

"Merciful?" Lexa laughed humorlessly.

"Well, I certainly can't let you go," Echo shrugged. "Your choice."

"Fuck you and your mercy," Lexa spat.

"Very well," Echo signed with feigned pity. "The Ice Queen it is."

Echo approached Lexa, and the brunette tensed. Suddenly, a massive shadow materialized in the sky and descended upon them rapidly. Echo looked u, and swore loudly.

"Wanheda!"

She opened fire at the sky, but Wanheda simply swirled around, missing the bullets and landing in front of Echo with a loud crash. Echo cried out in surprise and fired again, but Wanheda lunged and struck Echo's arm, sending the weapon flying. The masked vigilante slammed her into the ground, face first, and slapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists before yanking her up by the arm roughly.

"Bring her in for questioning," Wanheda instructed, "I have the conversation taped."

Lexa rushed forward, picking up the submachine gun and pointing it at Wanheda.

"Shut up!" Lexa shouted angrily

Wanheda frowned and took a tentative step forward, only to halt herself as Lexa made a threatening gesture with her gun.

"I'm only trying to help," said the masked vigilante.

"Costia is dead because of you!" Lexa snapped. "You've done enough!"

The brunette walked in front of Wanheda, grabbed Echo by the arm and yanked her from the masked vigilante's grip. She then quickly stepped back, never moving her gun away as she re-established the distance between them.

"I won't kill you today, because you just saved my life," Lexa spat. "But if I ever see you again, I will kill you."

* * *

"I need an update," Clarke said as soon as the Dropship took off, punching a few buttons to switch to autopilot. "What the fuck is happening?"

"The attack at the funeral wasn't an isolated incident," Monty's voice came through the comms. "The Azgeda is exchanging fire with the Mayor's security detail inside City Hall. The DA's Office is under attack as well. First responders are responding to suitcase bombs going off at both Griffin Enterprise and Mt. Weather."

"Jesus Christ!" Clarke exclaimed. "Why isn't the PCPD responding."

"Police precincts across the city have come under siege by the Azgeda," Monty replied. "They are calling for backup but communications appear to be jammed."

"This must be it," said Clarke. "This is Nia's end game. Co-ordinated attacks on targets across the city. If she succeeds, Polis will be without a government or police. She will be unstoppable."

"Clarke?" Raven's voice cracked through the comms. "You need to see this. Check the display screen."

Clarke tapped on the display screen, and a video feed appeared.

"You die before you surrender," Nia's voice came through before her image. "This is the motto you live by. For years, you have suffered. Your jobs disappeared, then your healthcare, then your food, then your home. Your misery piles on, while the corrupt elite grows richer and more powerful. And yet, every time the people rise up and against the corrupt elite, they tell you to fight, for yourselves, for your families, for your freedom. But who have gained from your struggles but the very same establishment?"

Nia shoved a hooded figure in front of the camera and ripped off the bag, revealing a battered Charles Pike with bruises on his face. "Look at this man. Charles Pike, your despicable DA, future Mayor! The man who stood up to the gangs and will one day make Polis great again. But while you fight for him, while you vote for dirty politicians like him, who does he fight for? He doesn't care about you, people like him only care about two things - money, and power. And yet, you still do the same thing over, and over again. Why is that?"

Nia dumped Pike to the ground unceremoniously. "For years, the answer to that question has eluded me, until I finally realized the truth. Free will, is a lie. Ask yourselves, what freedom do you truly have? In the end, you always end up on the path laid out by the people pulling the strings. Humanity, does not need freedom. Humankind is weak and hideous. The only thing it needs, is someone to bow to. Once you realize that, your enlightenment is at hand, and you become ready, for greatness. True greatness bestowed upon your meaningless existence. Bow before me, your queen, and you shall have a place in New Polis, a paradise on Earth, where only the strongest of humanity, can survive. Those who defy me, will meet the same end as the weak. You come from ashes, and you will return to ashes."

Clarke turned the feed off. "She's going to execute Pike on live TV. Monty, Raven, I need you to cut off the broadcasting. I have to get there before she finishes her monologue."

"It's too dangerous," Raven argued. "At least wait for back up."

"There is no backup," Clarke replied, entering coordinates in the Dropship's computer. "It has to be me. I have to end this. Can you do it?"

"It's a piece of cake," Monty's voice cracked a little. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I always am."

The journey to the TV station would have taken a car a good twenty minutes, but the Dropship parked above the building less than two minutes later. Clarke turned autopilot back on and set the Dropship at hovering. A quick glance at the X-ray scan showed that the building was empty save for six figures on the twelfth floor.

Clarke attached a metal cable to her belt and dove off the Dropship, the clouds providing her cover from the Azgeda's watchful eyes as she crashed through the night sky at a rapid pace. She landed on the roof gracefully, the metal cable slowing her descent.

Clarke walked to the edge of the roof and lowered herself down, gripping the cable tightly. Quickly noting that the building was twenty stories tall, Clarke scaled down, stopping outside level twelve, on the opposite end of where Nia and Pike were supposed to be. The glass cutter made quick work of the window and Clarke placed it inside the building without a sound. She swung herself into what appeared to be an empty office and released the cable.

Clarke approached the door silently. One hand rested on the knob while the other held a gun. She twisted the door knob open, careful not to alert the Azgeda of her presence. The door led to a long aisle, lightless and empty. Nia's half-deranged, half-impassioned speech could be heard as she approached the end of the aisle. A quick tap on her helmet told her the presence of a pair of Azgeda guards outside the studio door.

"Now!" Clarke shouted, bursting out and shooting the guards down before they could even react.

Clarke didn't stop. She turned her gun up and gunned down two more guards standing behind the studio door, the glass shattering as bullets punched through them. The masked vigilante stepped through glass shards into the studio just as the broadcasting went dark.

Nia didn't seem fazed the slightest.

"Hello, Wanheda," Nia greeted with no weapon visible. "I had a feeling that I might see you here. I hope you've seen reason and decided to join me in New Polis."

"I haven't come to join you, I've come to stop you," Clarke replied forcefully. "It's over. Call off the attacks and let Pike go."

"Far from it," Nia looked bemused. "Polis' salvation has just begun."

"Not if I put a bullet in you."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Nia drawled. "That's why you came here, isn't it? To kill me?"

Clarke tensed. She gripped her gun tightly, finger on the trigger. She wanted nothing more than shooting the woman in front of her, but something was holding her back. A part of her was whispering the all-too-familiar words in the back of her mind. Blood must have blood. She tensed, ready to pull the trigger, but her fingers wouldn't move. Something wouldn't let them.

"You can't kill me," Nia smirked. "Because deep down, you know I'm right. You see humanity as it is, imperfect and flawed. It's destroying itself and you know it. People are so petty, so primitive, like savages, fighting over borders and religions and race. War, starvation, anarchy, all of it can end, if humanity is united."

"Under your thumb?" Clarke challenged.

"No," Nia held out a hand invitingly. "Ours. For years, I have searched for someone worthy. Someone who understands the truth and sees the world as I do. Someone who matches me in every way, intellectual and physical, and I've found my match in you. Join me, and together we will save Polis."

For a second, Clarke was tempted, so much that she opened her mouth, a yes on her tongue. But then, something flashed in her mind. An image of two women swirling on a massive dance floor, looking at each other with nothing but love in its purest form. A connection so powerful that it shook her, reminding her that once, she too shared it, something innocent, something pure, with a boy and his signature charming smile.

Her trance broke, and Clarke shook her head.

"No." She said. "You claim that you want to save Polis, and maybe that's true. Maybe you really believe that you are the hero in this story, but I know better. You are insane. And instead of trying to stop this city's decay, you got it into your head that you had to kill everyone who did. Can't you see it? Like all the elite you say you hate, your power has only grown as people's livelihoods vanished. It's time to stop."

"I will never stop," Nia vowed.

"Then I'll stop you."

A blur darted across the space between them with a quick flicker of Nia's wrist. The dagger collided with Clarke's gun, knocking it out of her hand. Then, Nia was on her, but Clarke was prepared.

Clarke advanced on her adversary, fists drawn, but Nia was already back on her feet. Nia came at her with a powerful jab, and Clarke caught her fist. The two of them stood there for a moment, both of them pressing forward and neither relenting. Then, they jumped back simultaneously. Clarke struck this time, swinging her leg up and catching the ice queen by the waist, Nia staggered back, but her footing was steady and her stance was flawless. Clarke struck again, searching for an opening as Nia blocked her moves expertly.

Clarke jumped up with a fist raised, bringing it down at Nia quickly. Nia anticipated it and stepped back, avoiding the blow without trouble. But it was never meant to land. The Ice Queen's motion came to a stop when her back hit a wall and Clarke advanced predatorily, swinging her other arm this time. Nia dodged the punch, moving her head aside at the last second. Clarke's armored fist created a hole in the wall and Nia used it to her advantage, seizing the arm and using it as leverage to flip their positions and shove Clarke against the wall.

Nia made to speak, but Clarke surged forward, connecting her helmet with Nia's face. The Ice Queen swore loudly as she staggered back, her hands clutching her broken nose, blood splattering down her chin. One of Clarke's arms shot forward and she spun them, slamming Nia's back into the wall roughly. She kneed Nia painfully, and the ice queen groaned and coughed, but she was laughing like a madwoman who just hit the jackpot.

"What are you laughing at?" Clarke's voice boomed.

"I'll show you," Nia said, and a sharp pain tore through her torso. The masked vigilante looked down to the source of the pain, only to find the hilt of a dagger digging into her armor.

"The difference between you and me," Nia let go and Clarke dropped to the ground, "and the reason you'll be a corpse and I'll be the queen, is the ability to flip the table in a split second."

Clarke groaned in pain, propping herself up against the wall.

"What a shame," Nia shook her head sadly. "To think that you could have been by my side as I conquered Polis."

The Ice Queen picked up Clarke's dropped gun and pointed it at her. "Goodbye, Wanheda."

The shot never came, because out of nowhere, a figure collided into Nia with a panther-like lunge, tackling the Ice Queen to the ground.

"Fuck you!" Pike screamed and bashed Nia's face with the camera. He tossed it aside and punched Nia square in the jaw. "Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!"

Pike brought his fist back up and made to hit Nia again, but the ice queen rammed an elbow into Pike's side. She flipped them, one of her hands wrapped around his throat and the other squeezed into a fist. But Pike was faster, latching his teeth onto Nia's thumb and biting it off with a loud crack.

Nia screamed, and Pike shoved her to the floor. He was on top of her, a glint of what could only be described as pure madness in his eyes as he choked her. Nia struggled wildly, but Pike only led out an animalistic growl from the depth of his throat and squeezed even harder.

Nia was suffocating and Pike wrapped his free hand around the other side of her neck. He screamed and pressed and pulled, and blood exploded into his face, covering his from hairline to collar as Nia's throat was ripped apart with brute fore.

"Pike," Clarke whispered, pressing one of her hands to her wound as she pushed herself up.

Pike's head shot to Clarke's direction. He looked at her but it was like he didn't see her at all. There was nothing but mumbled chaos in his eyes as they darted between the window and the door.

Clarke tried calling his name again, but Pike still didn't answer. Instead, he took one long look at the glass window before turning around and bursting out of the door.

In a distance, police sirens blared faintly.

* * *

A/N: So that's it! I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. There will be more story to tell since this is only the first part of the series. Lexa's relationship with both Clarke Griffin and Wanheda will continue to evolve, and there are a few obvious candidates for the next main antagonist at this point. However, I do not have a timeline about when the next one will be published, so make you add this to story alert to get notified.


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